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A Ghost — Save Me!” 





A Maid of Mettle 


By “ALIEN/ 

(MRS. L. “ ALIEN ” BAKER) 

Author of Another Woman's Territory f etc. 


3 ^ 



PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


THE UBftARY OF 
OONQRCSS, 
T«»o CwMM HtamrtL 

MOV. 59 fq(r^9 







A'i* 


Copyright, 1902, 

By George W. Jacobs & Co. 
Published September y igo2. 



Contents 


CHAP. 

I. 

dija’s stepfather 




PAGE 

7 

II. 

LETTING GO - - 

- 

- 

- 

21 

III. 

EMANCIPATION 

- 

- 

- 

39 

IV. 

ROUGHING IT - - 

- 

- 

- 

6 i 

V. 

THE ARRIVALS 

- 

- 

- 

86 

VI. 

“ it’s us ” - 

- 

- 

- 


VII. 

THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR 

- 

- 

- 

137 

VIII. 

A VISIT TO BLACKTHORNE 

- 

- 

- 

150 

IX. 

BEES TOO BUSY 

- 

- 

- 

166 

X. 

THE COMING OF DIJA - 

- 

- 

- 

178 

XI. 

FRIENDS OLD AND NEW 

- 

- 

- 

00 

XII. 

Jackie’s debut - 

- 

- 

- 

203 

XIII. 

A WINTER OF DISCONTENT 

- 

- 

- 

228 

XIV. 

SIMPLE LIZZIE 

- 

- 

- 

241 

XV. 

THREE LETTERS - 

- 

- 

- 

257 

XVI. 

A FAIRY GODMOTHER - 

- 

- 

- 

273 

XVII. 

TRIUMPHS AND FAILURES 

- 

- 

- 

298 

XVIII. 

THE FIRST-FRUITS 

- 

- 

- 

315 

XIX. 

dija’s freedom - 

- 

- 

- 

328 

XX. 

BACK AT BLACKTHORNE 

- 

- 

- 

353 

XXI. 

ANOTHER PARTY - 

- 

- 

- 

371 

XXII. 

CONCLUSION 

- 

- 

- 

384 


3 






Illustrations 


“A Ghost— Save me ! ” 

Leonard Harper and Dija were swinging along 
hand in hand from the trout stream - 
His Majesty rested his head against his mistress’s 
knees in dumb sympathy - - - - 

Barbara sat on the rug and looked into the face 
of her new friend with a sweet sense of 
companionship ----- 
“Leonard!” — “Sweetheart!” - - - . 


- Frontispiece 
Facing page 30 
“ “ 146 

“ “ 198 

“ “ 310 




A Maid of Mettle 


CHAPTER I 
dija’s stepfather 

Dija was desperate, and when there was any- 
thing the matter with Dija you knew it. But this 
was not a small difficulty, like short skirts, or bed 
at nine o’clock, or taking eucalyptus for cold, or be- 
ing denied a menagerie in the conservatory, or a 
tea-party for ragamuffins on the lawn, or even a 
study of English enforced before embarkation was 
encouraged on a three- volume novel, or attention to 
drawing insisted upon previous to the painting of a 
great picture that in all probability would have as- 
tonished the world ! It was sound, solid trouble 
that would not melt or be overcome. It was Mr. 
Hettlethorpe, the solicitor, one of the trustees of 
her dead father’s will — and her mother was going 
to marry him! Her mother she could melt, but 
Mr. JSTettlethorpe was too big, too quietly insistent ; 
there was no melting him ! How he had won her 


8 


A Maid of Mettle 


mother’s regard was a puzzle to Dija, who disliked 
his quiet, slow smile, the color of his eyes, the 
haughty carriage of his head, the pattern of his 
clothes, the shape of his hands and feet, and, above 
all, his appropriation of her mother, and his firm, 
unruffled, determined manner toward herself. 
Dija’s mother had of late quite slipped through her 
thirteen-year-old fingers, and there was an end to 
all Dija’s peace. She had considered herself quite 
capable of training the gentle little mother in the 
way she should go, firm and experienced enough to 
rule as her father had ruled before her, with a good 
deal of noise and commotion. 

Mrs. Danvers had just nervously made her com- 
munication. Tea was over, and the little lady was 
standing on one side of the dining-room fireplace, 
her self-willed daughter on the other, taller, darker, 
stronger, almost older-looking than her mother, in 
spite of the wild tangle of dark hair that rippled to 
her waist. 

She was in a blaze of jealous wrath. 

“ I’ll never live with him, never ! ” exclaimed she, 
clenching her hands. “ I hate him, I hate him.” 

“ My dear Dija,” remonstrated her mother in 
persuasive tones, ‘‘I beg you to consider. So dis- 
courteous of you ! Such strong language ! You 


9 


Dija’s Stepfather 

are so emphatic, so prejudiced. Oh, dear, dear! 
don’t look so furious, child. I declare it will be 
quite a comfort to me to have a man in the house 
to take you in hand ! ” 

“ It won’t be a comfort to himf retorted Dija. 
“ He’d better not interfere with me. I’ll teach him 
to mind his own business.” 

“ You will be his business.” 

The girl gasped with impotent fury. She caught 
a vision of the future as it would be : her pliant 
mother referring to her new defense, consulting 
him about everything concerning herself. And she 
had always made a point of being hard to please ; 
henceforward nobody would heed whether she was 
pleased or not. Her eyes flashed defiance. 

“ He shan’t rule one, I’d die first — I’d sooner run 
away I ” 

Mrs. Danvers actually laughed. “Eun away 
from Mr. ISTettlethorpe,” she responded ; he’s far 
too kind ; you would soon run home again, child 1 ” 

Dija couldn’t believe her ears. Eun home again 
after once running away — she ? Dija of the strong 
will and unbending pride ? Thirteen this birthday, 
and her mother not know her yet ! She must teach 
her mother better. She glanced round the cozy 
room ; the cheerful firelight flickered on the silver 


lO 


A Maid of Mettle 


on the sideboard, and was reflected on the pictures. 
The comfort appealed to her sense of the luxurious. 
Even the little girlish-looking mother was very 
desirable now she was escaping her sole possession, 
although a leader in nothing, except arranging 
flowers and sewing frills, or nursing you if you 
were sick. Dija read about women with missions 
and doted on them. She determined to have a 
mission herself when she came into her money ; it 
was a mortifying reflection that she would have to 
wait so long, and meanwhile submit to Mr. Nettle- 
thorpe, whose arguments her mother could not 
withstand. Hitherto she had managed to demand 
considerably her own way, even to her name. She 
was christened Florence, but her first spoken word 
was “Dija,” her second “me,” and “me — Dija,” 
had carried the day. It was hard if she could not 
still carry it ! 

By the time she reached her own room, her hot, 
quick temper was subsiding ; a lump in her throat, 
an ache at her heart made themselves felt — she 
wanted Betty. She forgot her short skirts, fum- 
bled in her pocket for a peppermint, and, while she 
munched it, abstractedly longed more than ever for 
Betty. Betty was her bosom friend ; of the same 
age and height ; fair as Dija was dark ; placid as 


Dija’s Stepfather 1 1 

Dija was impetuous, whom Dija alternately led into 
mischief and suffered for afterwards. For, to pun- 
ish Dija, break her will all to pieces, make her con- 
trite and ashamed, was to punish Betty. 

“ It’s saul right ! ” Betty would declare, when in 
disgrace, slurring her words. But at sight of her 
red eyes Dija felt all the world was wrong, and 
would implore Betty’s mother to pardon Betty be- 
cause she, Dija, only was to blame, and life was a 
very paltry and mean affair to Dija till Betty’s 
mother received her again. 

Mrs. Talbert was a writer, and Dija adored her 
as well as Betty, partly because she was tall, and 
had a face like Betty’s, with eyes that made you 
want to please her; and partly because she was 
clever. This was the sort of mother Dija wanted, 
she told herself. And to Betty, and Bett3^’s 
mother, she would go now. 

First she scribbled a short will on a sheet of ex- 
ercise paper, leaving her paintings, her own work, 
her piano, and all she possessed to Betty, adding a 
threat to Mr. hTettlethorpe that should he dare to 
disregard these injunctions she would haunt him aU 
the days of his life I 

Then she put her nightclothes, brush and comb, 
tooth brush, and her finest handkerchiefs — Dija waa 


12 


A Maid of Mettle 


dainty about handkerchiefs — into a bag, and, cast- 
ing a fond farewell glance round her pretty bed- 
chamber, where all her favorite books and pictures 
were collected, she drew her hat over her eyes to 
hide their suspicion of tears, and, with a very 
straight back and haughtily-carried head, descended 
the stairs and reached the hall-door. Here she 
paused, but her dramatic exit had been unobserved. 
Ho distracted mother rushed to detain her ; instead, 
soft strains of a piano floated from the drawing- 
room, and a very delicious smell of cookery came 
from the kitchen. Hobody saw ; nobody cared. 
She gulped down a rising sob, and wrathfully 
slammed the door after her. Well, never mind ! 
Many great people had been misunderstood ; some 
had been homeless ! If she died it would break her 
mother’s heart — she’d be sorry then. If she lived 
she would become very famous, and humble Mr. 
Hettlethorpe. She liked this last reflection best, it 
stirred her pulses, and put springs into her heels. 
She would write a great book, with Mr. Hettle- 
thorpe for the villain, and such a villain ! All the 
world would shudder and weep tears over the poor 
girl whom he had driven from her home. 

“ Where’r yer cornin’ to ? ” exclaimed an angry 
voice, as she bumped into somebody in the dusk. 


Dija’s Stepfather 13 

“ Can’t yer look out ? — a spillin’ of a body’s milk 
on the wrong side of their thrart ! ” 

This brought Dija to the immediate present ; she 
felt it better to pay more attention to her present 
whereabouts. The country road was darkening — 
not that she minded that I Pooh ! she despised a 
girl who had no courage — courage was one of the 
foundations of character ; no timid person ever be- 
came really great. Mrs. Talbert had told her that 
she often wandered about at night to get scenes for 
her books, and this long, lonely road, with the high 
hedges on either side, — how she herself would 
describe it in her great book ! 

Hark ! what was that ? She halted, a little leap 
at her heart. 

Only the autumn wind rustling the dried leaves. 
She shifted her bag from one hand to the other, 
and trudged on stoutly. 

“ I’ll never return home — never ! ” she said out 
loud. 

“ Hever ! ” came back a faint echo thrown by a 
high barn. Dija gave a start, then laughed. 

‘‘ I shall not ! ” reiterated she. 

“Hot ? ” faintly queried the echo. 

“ Hever I ” 

“ Never ? ” 


H 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ No, indeed ! ” She declared, with a toss of 
the head, and the echo scornfully responded “ In- 
deed ! » 

She quickened her pace, to prove how determined 
she was to carry out her intention with all possible 
speed, and came presently to where the road turned 
at the base of a hill. By following the road she 
would reach Mrs. Talbert’s in half an hour ; but by 
taking the track over the hill she could reach the 
cottage in half that time. Betty and she had 
climbed the hill through the bracken dozens of 
times ; she knew every step of the way, and be- 
sides, it was not quite dark ; a crescent moon was 
shining dimly through the mist. 

Dija chose the hill, and commenced the ascent 
with a spring and a bound, sniffing the scent of wet 
bracken as though she liked it. This was Mrs. Tal- 
bert’s favorite Avalk, and Dija hoped she might now 
be taking what she called her “ twilight holiday,” 
and that they would meet. Once or twice she 
fancied she saw the outlines of a tall figure on the 
track, but approaching, discovered a tree stump, or 
clump of gorse. There Avas no sound, no moA^e- 
ment, except the eerie soughing of the Avind, and 
the long, loAv sAvish of the fern, like the sighing of 
Avavelets on the shore. 


Dija’s Stepfather 

Bija stopped irresolutely ; looked right and left, 
bending to one side and the other. Nothing to be 
seen but little silvery patches of moonlight. She 
went on again at a jog-trot, whistling. But whis- 
tling and jog-trotting up hill are not easy. She 
soon abandoned that, and felt crossl}^ that if it had 
not been for Mr. Nettlethorpe she should now be 
curled on the rug, before the drawing-room fire, 
reading adventure instead of acting it, and an un- 
comfortable fear that she was a very foolish girl, 
and that Mrs. Talbert might say so, took zest out 
of her impulse. 

Hark ! what was that ? Dija stopped short, her 
heart in her mouth. Not the wind — she was quite 
sure of that. The wind howled, but not like a dog. 
Yet was it a dog? She whistled and listened with 
straining ears. All was still, deadly still, and, 
shaking a little at the noise her skirts made over 
the grass, she went on slowly, peering about her at 
every step. 

“ 0-o-o-h ! ” The long, low howl curdled Dija’s 
blood, and rooted her to the ground. A pace or 
two distant stood the chimney and ruins of a little 
cottage that had been there several years, and were 
partly overgrown with weed and scrub. From 
among these ruins came the unearthly cry, half 


i6 A Maid of Mettle 

human, half like the howl of a dog. “ 0-o-o-h I ! ” 
And from behind the chimney a ghostly, wizened 
face appeared, distinctly visible in the moonlight, 
surrounded by a mass of tangled gray hair. 

With a shriek that resounded on the quiet hill, 
Dija dropped her bag, and turning, fled, not waiting 
for investigation, wanting to be certain of nothing 
at all except that the hall-door was securely shut 
behind her. Her two sturdy legs flew in and out 
among the bracken, as she bounded down hill, and 
the sound of her heels soon echoed on the road. 
She tore i3ast the woman whose milk she had 
spilled coming out, and who was now taking a 
quiet walk, and collided with her so forcibly that 
she was shot off the side-way. 

Looking after her wrathfully, she called out, 
“ You’re too suddent for this world, that’s what’s 
the matter with you ! Blest if I don’t think she’s 
dratted ! ” she added, rubbing her arm. “ There 
ain’t much that’ll stand in her way, I’m sure ! 
I’ll ’ave to go ’ome an’ ile me harm ! ” 

Mrs. Danvers and Mr. Nettlethorpe were sitting 
at dinner. Dija was not expected till dessert, when 
suddenly a small cyclone seemed to happen in the 
hall; things fell, there was skurry of feet, then 


17 


Dija’s Stepfather 

the dining-room door burst open, and Dija came 
through, crimson and panting, hat gone, hair flying. 

Mrs. Danvers jumped to her feet, the parlor-maid 
dropped a plate in her sudden fright, as Dija 
gasped : 

“ A ghost — save me ! ” 

The next moment she was within the protection 
of Mr. Nettlethorpe’s enfolding arms — how strong 
and comforting they were ! 

“ Why, Dija, my dear, whatever is the matter ? ” 
exclaimed Mrs. Danvers, who had imagined Dija in 
a fit of “ tantrams,” shut in her room. 

“She’s had a fright,” said Mr. Nettlethorpe 
quietly, “ some wine, Mary.” 

Dija drank the wine, then, feeling better, slid out 
of Mr. Nettlethorpe’s arm, and looked hard to see 
if he was laughing. But he was not. She imagined 
a twinkle in his eyes, but he dropped them in- 
stantly, and said, with great gravity, “ I fancied I 
met a ghost once, and a nice scare I got, but it was 
explained. I will tell you some time. But suppose 
we finish dinner, and Dija shall tell us her story 
afterwards.” 

“ But her hair ! ” protested Mrs. Danvers. 

“ Never mind her hair ! ” he responded ; “ hadn’t 
Mary better bring back the chicken ? ” 


i8 


A Maid of Mettle 


Later, Dija told her tale. 

“But what were you doing on Fern Hill?” 
asked her mother, suspiciously. 

“ Taking a walk,” answered Dija, blushing. 

“ I should call it a run ! ” interposed Mr. 
Hettlethorpe, in that knowing way Dija dis- 
liked. 

Just then Mary appeared. 

“ If you please, madam, a man has called about a 
bag. Miss Dija’s bag ; said he picked it up on Fern 
Hill, and seeing Miss Dija’s address inside, brought 
it home. He heard the young lady squeal, and 
thought he Avould like to explain.” 

“ Who squealed ? ” asked Dija, haughtily. 

“You did,” Mary’s look replied, as she went to 
show the man up, according to orders. 

The man looked uneasy. “ I ask yor pardon for 
intrudin’,” he said, addressing Mr. FTettlethorpe, 
who looked like the head of the household, “ but 
I’m afraid the young lady got a fright. I knew it 
was a young lady by the clothes in the bag, and 
the squeal,” he explained, bowing to Dija, who 
would have liked to box his ears, and handing the 
bag to Mr. Hettlethorpe. “ It was this way,” he 
continued ; “ on the ’ill is the ruins of an ole cottage 
where my pore ole mother lived many a year. 


Dija’s Stepfather I9 

Five year ago it was burned down, an’ the shock 
o’ losin’ her ’ome sent ’er a bit dotty like, an’ 
surntimes she gets away from me an’ my missus, an’ 
goes to the ole place an’ takes on. That’s what she 
did this evenin’, an’ when I went after ’er I ’erd 
somebody call out, an’ findin’ the bag, I thought I 
knew ’ow it was.” 

“ Thank you ! ” responded Mr. hfettlethorpe, and, 
giving the man a coin, dismissed him. 

Dija’s eyes had been on the bag. Would her 
mother open it and discover that she had runavva}^, 
and run home again ? No, to her infinite relief, 
Mrs. Danvers handed it over. 

‘‘ Good-night, dear,” she said sweetly, “ I am sure 
you are tired ; no wonder you were frightened ; if it 
had been me I should have had a fit.” 

“ Eeinind me to tell you that story,” said Mr. 
Nettlethorpe as he shook hands. 

“ She did run away ! ” said Mrs. Danvers sadly, 
when she and Mr. Nettlethorpe Avere alone 
together. 

He laughed quietly. ‘‘ And she ran home again, 
which she declared she never Avould do,” he an- 
swered ; “ but don’t tell her we knoAV. I Avouldn’t 
Avouiid her pride for the Avorld, for at present I am 
one of Dija’s difficulties.” 


20 


A Maid of Mettle 


Dija tore up her will, got into bed, and blushed 
under the bedclothes. 

‘‘ Fancy cuddling him ! ” she thought ; “ what a 
donkey ! Sqxieal indeed ! Anyhow, this bed is 
comfy.” 


CHAPTER II 


LETTING GO 

“ Stuff,” said Dija scornfully, as her mother 
drove away with Mr. Hettlethorpe. She held her 
head high as she had done during the whole of the 
wedding festivities, wearing her pretty white frock 
with an air of disdain. 

She quite understood that her reign in her 
mother’s home was ended. Mr. Hettlethorpe was 
kind, he was good company, he amused her ; but it 
was rubbish that her mother should be so devoted 
to him ! 

“Hever mind,” she said out loud, for the wed- 
ding guests had departed, and she was alone. “ It 
is just what I say, nobody wants me very much, 
except Betty, and Betty wants her ‘ mummy ’ more 
than me, especially since Mrs. Talbert has been ill. 
But I don’t care ! everything is such rot ! I shan’t 
trouble anybody about me long — they shall see 
what I will show them ! ” 

It would have been hard to find a more unhappy 

girl. Her strong will wanted to rule and sweep 
21 


22 


A Maid of Mettle 


before it all outside considerations, and would not 
let her own that her childhood had never been 
pinched and loveless ; she shut her eyes to the love 
and care lavished upon her, and saw only the 
fancied slights. 

“ Never mind ! ” she said again, turning in lonely 
sorrow from the door, and making her way to her 
own room. As she lay face downward upon 
the bed, she felt that she hated the whole world. 
She was in a mood of sulk, and quarrel, and revolt, 
and at her wits’ end what to do to bring herself 
into notice and make herself appreciated and under- 
stood. 

Dija lay on ' her face, heart-broken because her 
mother was happy in a way that she did not 
approve, and lonely with that unspeakable lone- 
liness of sensitive childhood, with character too 
individual and strong to lose itself absolutely in 
other lives. 

Dija was very sorry for herself. Grown-up peo- 
ple were disheartening. They talked to you about 
doing your duty, and loving other people better 
than yourself, and then went and got married ! 
Nobody cared for her as she cared for them ! 

“If you please. Miss Dija,” said Mary’s voice 
on the outside of the door, “ will you let me in ? ” 


Letting Go 23 

Dija sprang from the bed and opened the door, 
turning aside to hide her tear-stained face. 

“ I promised your ma, miss,” said Mary, “ as you 
shouldn’t miss the train to Deal, as your godmother 
and Mr. Leonard will be expectin’ you. Your 
things is packed, an’ I’ll just take off your white 
muslin frock an’ put you into this white flannel. 
Your ma knows what’s becomin’ to you. Miss Dija; 
there’s a heliotrope an’ a pink among your dresses, 
an’ if it was me, miss, I should just drink this nice 
tea cook’s sent up, for as I ses to cook, you ’adn’t got 
no happetite at the weddin’ breakfast — weddin’s is 
that excitin’ they take away the happetite.” 

Dija submitted to the change of apparel, and 
drank her tea in silence. 

It had been arranged that she was to spend the 
period of her mother’s honeymoon with her god- 
mother and her son in Kent, where Dija had passed 
the happiest holidays of her life. Kext best to 
Betty she loved Leonard Harper. He was Dija’s 
ideal of a man ; and it was him she had determined 
to marry, while he had promised to think about it, 
as soon as she was grown up. In four years more 
she would be a young lady of seventeen ! Her 
great book would be written by then, and her pic- 
tures the talk of the world ! 


24 


A Maid of Mettle 


Mary accompanied her young mistress in a cab to 
the railway station, took her ticket to Deal, looked 
after her luggage, and saw her comfortably seated 
in a first-class carriage, then said kindly, “ I wish 
you a pleasant journey. Miss Dija. An’ don’t take 
on, miss ; Mr. Nettlethorpe’s that fond of your ma 
an’ you, miss, an’ as cook ses, the ’ome will be that 
’appy ” 

The train started, and Mary was left upon the 
platform waving adieu. 

There were two other girls in the compartment, 
returning to school after Whitsuntide, and they kept 
up a cheerful and incessant chatter about festivities 
past, and examinations to come ; of all “ father ” 
and “mother” expected, and “madame” their 
governess desired; of rules and discipline, and im- 
positions and punishments ; rewards and honors ; 
and Dija gathered enough, while she stared indiffer- 
ently out of the window, to understand that her 
own life was freedom in comparison. Still she 
heard nothing about the mothers of girls marrying 
a second time, and she nursed her pet grievance 
sulkily, till the train stopped at Deal. 

“ Here we are ! ” exclaimed a pleasant voice, as a 
young man put his head in at the window. 

Dija’s heart leaped with pleasure as she impul- 


25 


Letting Go 

sively clung to her friend. Leonard Harper assisted 
her to alight, took possession of the luggage in his 
deliberate, quiet way, and not till Dija was beside 
him in the pony-carriage, and they were driving 
along a quiet country road between hawthorn 
hedges and banks of primroses, did he turn to 
scrutinize the face of the girl sitting so unusually 
quiet beside him. 

“Well, Di, how is everything and everybody ? ” 

“ Horrid ! ” declared Dija. 

“ How did the wedding go off ? ” 

“ Mother's gone off ! ” 

Dija’s back stiffened and she scowled. Leonard 
Harper indicated the surrounding country with his 
whip. 

“ The spring has put on its hyacinth dress and 
green bonnet to welcome you. We’ll go into the 
woods to-morrow. I had a peep at the primroses 
this morning ; the brook-side is a mass of yellow. 
I’ve bought a side-saddle for Flirt ; I want you to 
try it ! ” 

Dija looked at her friend with mournful dark 
eyes. Did he think her the same child she used to 
be, contented with trifles ? Surely he would under- 
stand that it was not possible for her ever to take 
pleasure in small things again. Still the glorious 


26 


A Maid of Mettle 


sunshine was warming her blood, and the song-birds 
were calling from the bush. Oh, if only Betty 
were here, and there were no Mr. JSTettlethorpes in 
the world, how happy she might have been ! As 
it was, she herself must marry young. She had 
always meant to marry Leonard some time, but not 
for many years. 

Dija glanced uneasily at the vales and hills. 
What fun lurked among the shadows ! What 
romps she and Leonard had had in bygone times ! 
But she must be serious now. 

“ Leonard.” 

“ Yes, sweetheart.” 

“ When I was a small child I asked you to marry 
me! ” 

“ Did you ? ” 

“And you said, ‘We’ll talk of it when you are 
grown up ’ ; and I am grown up almost. When I 
am seventeen I shall have finished lessons, and I 
won’t live at home with Mr. JSTettlethorpe ; you 
will have to marry me. There’s nobody but you. 
I don’t know anybody else I like.” 

“Well, you know,” drawled her companion 
lazily, fiicking the pony with the whip — “ this is 
rather unexpected. You must give me time to 
think it over.” 


27 


Letting Go 

“ Leonard, you are laughing ! ” 

He straightened himself immediately. 

“ Hot at all. Only it seems to me that the lady 
to whom I am engaged might object.” 

Engaged I Leonard I Her friend Leonard en- 
gaged — her idol, for whose sake she was fast grow- 
ing up ! The warmth went out of the sunlight ; a 

lump rose in her throat 

“ My mother,” went on Leonard, “ I’m engaged 
to her.” 

“ Stupid ! ” interrupted Dija. 

“ Well, I don’t know. She’s a dear old lady,” he 
went on, “ and must have been a sweet sort of girl, 
don’t you think ? When she smiles now I fancy 
what she was like when she was young and went in 
for lessons, and deportment, and obedience, and 
primrosing, and politeness— ah, there she is ! ” 

They had turned into a short carriage-drive, and 
Mrs. Harper stood in the porch of the rambling old 
house to receive them. She had a sweet, grave 
face, and soft, small hands ; her hair was silver- 
white, and the lace at her neck and wrists seemed 
to belong to a past age. It was a novel idea to 
Dija to think of Mrs. Harper as a girl. She seemed 
to have been always so : never to have been igno- 
rant or self-willed. Oh dear I Dija sighed as she 


28 


A Maid of Mettle 


nestled into the welcoming arms, and the tears that 
had been so ready all day smarted in her eyes again. 

Dija was always at home in the quaint old house. 
Blackthorne had been a second home to her ever 
since she sat at table on a high chair. The maids 
smiled on her, the dogs and cats knew her, and by 
the time she had visited Flirt in the stable and in- 
spected the new side-saddle, she began to think it 
possible that she might enjoy herself a little if only 
she could forget Mr. Nettlethorpe. 

A week later Betty received the following letter : 

Daeling Betty, 

“ It’s glorious here, and I wish 
my own Betts was here too. When I came first I 
wasn’t as fond of Leonard as I used to be — he 
laughed when I reminded him that I should be 
old enough to marry him at seventeen, and said he 
was engaged to his mother. That was after pre- 
tending it was to somebody else. He apologized 
when wo were out riding — Flirt is a dear — and said 
it would be too rude for a gentleman to laugh when 
a lady offered him her hand ; he was amused at an 
idea. He thinks we’d better not be rash, but take 
a few years to think it over ; when I get into long 
dresses he thinks perhaps I shall not knock over so 


29 


Letting Go 

many things as I walk, for he’s sure Mrs. Harper 
wouldn’t like the old china broken. He asked her 
if she had ever been a tomboy, and she said she re- 
members a time when it was most difficult not to 
be, but she’d been disciplined. That’s what dear 
Mrs. Talbert always says — disciplined, and oh, 
Betty, I hate it ! Write soon, my pet, and tell me 
about your mother. Leonard is sending her a trout 
he helped me to catch. It’s such a beauty, mind 
you have some — it is such fun fishing. Leonard is 
teaching me — he makes things come easy, just like 
Mrs. Talbert does, and when your things are on 
crooked, or you use slang, he just looJcs with a way 
he has that makes you more careful — and he never 
seems to have a temper till somebody is cruel or a 
coward, and then it all comes out. Yesterday we 
were gathering that basket of primroses and hya- 
cinths to send to your mother (if you put them into 
large bowls, and change the water every day they’ll 
last for a week), and we saw a man thrashing a mis- 
erable dog, and Leonard took the switch out of the 
man’s hand, and beat him with it till it broke ; and 
the dog followed us home, and I washed and fed it, 
and I’m to have it, and we’re calling it Samaritan — 
Sam for short — because it fell into the hands of 
thieves. 


30 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ I am enjoying myself immensely — that is, when 
I’m not thinking about Mr. Nettlethorpe and you, 
and Mrs. Talbert ill, and I feel selfish to enjoy any- 
thing without you. Leonard says what he likes 
about you is your sweet temper and the nice way 
you keep your golden hair. I shall ask mother to 
let me wear mine in a long plait ; it is tidier so. 

“Write to me soon, darling Betty. I always 
want you. 

“ Your loving 

“ Dija.” 

“ P. S. — Of course when I am married you must 
live with me most of the time. I never could give 
you up. — Di. 

“ P. P. S.— Leonard says if Mrs. Talbert is better, 
and can spare you, why not come too ? Mrs. Har- 
per says we could both share my room if we liked, 
and we could have glorious talks at night, and I 
could go on telling you the story of my book, if you 
liked. Do, do, do come. — D.” 

A fortnight later Leonard Harper and Dija were 
swinging along, hand-in-hand, from the trout- 
stream, whistling a duet together as they walked. 
They were homeward bound for luncheon with cap- 
ital appetites. 



Leonard Harper and Dija Were Swinging Along 
Hand in Hand from the Trout Stream 




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Letting Go 31 

In tlie middle of the duet Dija spoke. 

“ I’m sure there’ll be a letter from Betty to- 
day, Leonard. Wasn’t it horrid getting one from 
Mr. JN^ettlethorpe yesterday instead ! And he 
signed himself ‘ yours affectionately.’ ” 

“ I rather think him a nice fellow, myself,” ven- 
tured Leonard. “ Of course it is a — a decisive 
thing to marry one’s mother. But he’ll take a lot 
of, of — anxiety off her shoulders, don’t you 
know.” 

“ That’s me ! ” affirmed Dija, and Leonard did not 
say it wasn’t. 

They were seated at table in the shady old di- 
ning-room when the midday post arrived. Yes, 
there it was — Betty’s letter. Dija laid it down 
with a longing look, and Mrs. Harper, who thought 
restraint and self-repression very good for the im- 
pulsive girl, checked her kindly desire to give per- 
mission for the reading till the meal was nearly 
over. Dija eagerly opened her letter the moment 
Mrs. Harper suggested it. 

“Dearest Dija,” — she read — “Many thanks 
for Mrs. Harper’s kind invitation, which I should 
have answered before, but it wasn’t quite cer- 
tain whether we were going away, and never 


32 


A Maid of Mettle 


any more, darling, may your own Betty see you 
again if you don’t come home before we start in a 
month ; for there are snakes^ and centipedes, and 
sometimes it doesn’t rain for months, and there’s no 
water. That’s in Queensland. But it’s all right. 
The doctor says mummy ought to get strong in a 
hot climate, and her sister lives in Brisbane, and 
I’m going up the country from Brisbane to stay 
with my cousins at a place called something which 
sounds like Wooly-me-Loo. And the black people 
don’t shoot their birds, but boomerang them ; and 
I shan’t have to practice my piano there, because 
my cousins are staying in a small cottage on their 
farm for fun and to what is called ‘ rough it,’ which 
mummy says is the Australian for not being very 
comfortable and having a good time. But it’s all 
right, and if your mother will let you come my 
mother will take you, too, for it will broaden out 
our minds, mummy says, and show us what much 
greater comforts the young people of Britain have 
than those of Greater Britain. And if I’m killed 
by snakes, never, never forget me, as I shall never, 
never forget you and it will all come right at the 
last. 

“ Your loving 


“ Betty.” 


Letting Go 33 

With a smothered cry of anguish, and forgetful 
of her manners, Dija rushed from the room. 

A few minutes later Mrs. Harper and her son 
found their young guest in the study, huddled up 
on the window-seat. “ My dear child ! ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Harper, consternation in her face and voice, 
“ whatever has happened ? ” 

“ Snakes ! centipedes ! ” cried Dija tragically. 
The gentle lady gasped with fright. 

“ Where ? ” she ejaculated, with uplifted hands. 

“ Queensland,” mumbled Dija, then something 
about Betty. Leonard picked up the letter, where 
it had fallen upon the floor, and having mastered 
its contents threw back his head, and, as Dija after- 
wards told Betty with great indignation, laughed, 
and laughed, and laughed. 

“ I’ll never marry you,” said Dija confronting 
him with flashing eyes. “ Hot when I’m seventeen, 
and not when I’m seventy.” At which Leonard 
Harper laughed more than ever. “ And some 
day, when you’re very miserable. I’ll laugh at 
you ! ” 

“ Dija ! ” he said quietly, and almost sternly. 

“ So I will ! ” reiterated the furious girl. 

“Why, whatever is the matter?” asked Mrs. 
Harper in astonishment. 


34 


A Maid of Mettle 


“Mrs. Talbert and Betty are going to Queens- 
land,” explained Leonard. 

“ Dear, dear ! ” murmured the old lady gently, 
“ how tempestuous you are, child ! Why not have 
said so quietly ? How wearying your dear mother 
must find you ! And as to marrying,” she added, 
with dignity, “ when Leonard brings a new mistress 
to Blackthorne I trust, for everybody’s sake, she 
will be truly a woman.” 

All the afternoon Dija wandered alone, forlornly 
feeling herself in disgrace. 

She heard the dinner gong, but taking no notice 
lay down in the plantation, her chin resting be- 
tween her hands, watching the stars come out in 
the clear spaces between the dark branches. A 
long time passed, then she smelt a cigarette, and 
quite quietly, as though he was accustomed to wil- 
ful girls and their ways, Leonard sat down beside 
her on the dry grass. 

“ Counting the stars ? ” he asked, as though it 
was quite a usual thing for guests to behave in this 
rude way, and absent themselves from their hostess’s 
table without apology. 

Dija did not reply. 

“ I think you had better come in now,” continued 


35 


Letting Go 

Leonard. “ My mother is very tired, and will not 
see you again to-night, so I promised her to hand 
you over to the maids before I go for a stroll.” 

No reproach ; no attempt at reconciliation. His 
voice was cold and indifferent, and Dija came down 
from her dreams of ill-usage with a sense of small- 
ness and shame. She realized that if she chose to 
alienate herself from love by her temper and stub- 
bornness she would be allowed to remain outside 
the fold. She felt very ill-bred. 

“ I am ashamed,” she said impulsively and peni- 
tently. “ I have got the worst temper of anybody 
I know ! ” 

“ It is pretty bad,” assented Leonard. 

They walked silently to the house. Leonard 
opened the door for her, then courteously raised his 
hat. 

“ Good-night,” he said, politely, and went away. 

Dija ran to her room and locked the door, feel- 
ing that every man’s hand was against her, and 
that her hand was against every man. But as the 
hours passed, and she lay alone in the dark, the 
question recurred to her again — What should she 
do without Betty ? She wouldn’t have anybody of 
her very own when Betty had gone. Nobody else 
said it was “ saul right ” whatever she chose to do. 


A Maid of Mettle 


3 ^ 

Leonard was angry, and she didn’t suppose he’d 
marry her now. Anyhow, it wasn’t worth while 
thinking about being brilliant and charming if it 
was such a diffiQult process. It was hateficl having 
to grow up slowly, inch by inch ! Oh, to bo 
twenty-one, and like the beautiful pictured lady in 
the hall ! 

Breakfast next morning was a very awkward 
affair. Leonard had left at an early hour for town, 
and Mrs. Harper was absorbed in her letters ; in- 
deed, beyond seeing that her wants were supplied, 
she took no notice of the girl at all. Dija per- 
ceived that she might not behave at Blackthorne 
as she had done at home. 

After breakfast she followed her godmother to 
the drawing-room. 

“ Forgive me, please,” she said. 

The old lady drew her gently to her side. 

“Sit here, child. I am going to tell you the 
story of the pictured Margaret you so much admire 
in the hall. She was my grandmother, and a 
hundred years ago the mistress of Blackthorne. 
Very beautiful and beloved, very generous and 
adorable, but imperious, and impatient of restraint. 

“ Before her marriage to my grandfather she had 
been a belle among lovely women, and the life of a 


37 


Letting Go 

country dame, after the excitements of town, 
fretted her. The fact, too, that her husband, a 
sportsman of some note in the country, who en- 
gaged in all the pastimes of gentlemen of those 
days, was so frequently absent, also irritated her, 
for she doubtless found the house, isolated as it 
then was, very dreary on occasions. 

“ Six months after the birth of her son there was 
a great ball to be given at Northgrove Hall, at the 
coming of age of the heir, to which my grandfather 
and grandmother were bidden, and the beautiful 
Margaret, radiant with anticipation, requested her 
husband upon the morning of the occasion to re- 
turn early from his shooting, that they might dine 
at a suitable time, for country hours, a hundred 
years ago, were earlier than they are now. 

“My grandfather was, however, unfortunately 
detained, and his young wife mistaking the delay 
for indifference worked herself into a fury of im- 
patience. On his return she stood at the top of the 
polished stairs, a lovely picture, in quaint bro- 
caded satin and pearls. My grandfather sprang 
hastily to reach her and bent to take her hand with 
words of admiration and apology, when, with a 
haughty movement, she swept him aside. 

“ ‘ I wait for no man ! ’ she said. 


A Maid of Mettle 


38 

“ He lost his balance and fell backward. There 
was no dance that or any other night for the Lady 
Margaret, for, although her husband lived for 
years afterwards, his spine was permanently in- 
jured and his young wife’s life a long agony of de- 
votion. Her husband had no word of reproach or 
repining, but she died with him day by day. A 
hasty moment — and years of unavailing remorse.” 

When Leonard returned from his ride he found 
Dija in the hall gazing up abstractedly at the 
beautiful pictured face of his great grandfather’s 
bride. 


CHAPTEK III 


EMANCIPATIOlSr 

“My opinion is/’ remarked Mr. Hettlethorpe 
quietly to his wife, as they sat together in the 
drawing-room on the evening of their return, “ that 
it would do Dija good in more ways than one ; and 
if Mrs. Talbert thinks it practicable, and feels equal 
to the charge, why not consent ? Dija is panting 
for emancipation ” 

“But Queensland!” interjected Dija’s mother, in 
her gentle voice of expostulation, longing, yet fear- 
ing, to be persuaded, wistful for a protracted period 
of peace, yet doubtful about the “snakes and 
things.” 

Mr. I^ettlethorpe laughed reassuringly. “Dija 
would, you know, be a tough morsel, even for a 
snake and ‘ roughing it,’ as the phrase goes, would 
be a distraction. Girls of Dija’s temperament have 
so much force that they must conquer something. 
Don’t you think it wiser that she should spend her 
energy in combating material difficulties, than in, 

let us say, conquering you f She’s a born fighter 
39 


40 


A Maid of Mettle 


is Dija, and if there are no difficulties on which to 
engage, she’ll fight her friends.” 

“ You’re a dear ! ” said Dija, entering the room 
unexpectedly, with flushed cheeks and sparkling 
eyes. “ I heard. I didn’t use to like you,” she 
added proudly and honestly ; ‘‘ I once called you a 
sneak, and wondered what mother liked in you. I 
know now ; it was sensed 

Mr. Nettlethorpe bowed. 

“ Dija ! ” exclaimed her mother, in confusion for 
her daughter’s uncompromising candor. 

“ Don’t blush, mother,” said Dija, “ I’m not rude, 
really,” she went on earnestly, “ I do think he has 
got sense,” nodding in her stepfather’s direction. 
“ I’ll work hard at lessons with Mrs. Talbert on the 
ship, and with Betty’s cousins afterwards. Leonard 
says I’m ignorant, and godmother is ashamed of 
me. I’m not a nice sort of girl ; but if I can go to 
Queensland, and take care of Betty ! ” 

She choked and broke off, looking appealingly 
from one face to the other. 

A few days later Leonard Harper received the 
following epistle : — 

“Dear Leonard,— M r. Hettlethorpe is a pig, 
but he is a sensible pig. He says I may, so I’m 


Emancipation 41 

going to Queensland ! It takes so long to become 
well-disciplined that I’m afraid it’s no use you wait- 
ing to marry me. Something inside me will burst 
out. Mr. ITettlethorpe says it’s force, I think it 
must be, for it doesn’t always feel like temper, but 
it makes my manners bad, and godmother hopes 
that when there is a new mistress at Blackthorne, 
she will be gentle. And I never could be gentle, 
not ever. So I give you up, and hope you will 
excuse my being rude. I think it’s when I love 
anybody I feel the worst, like the picture in the 
hall, who pushed her husband down-stairs because 
he made her wait. But I’m sure I shan’t like your 
wife if she’s gentle. She’s sure to be silly; the 
only gentle person I like is Betty. Betty is some- 
times silly, too, but she’s my own Betts, and can 
be, if she wants to ! 

‘‘ I wish you were coming ; it will be fun ! And if 
Flirt and Sam were only coming too, what times we 
should have ! 

“ Ever your 

“Dija. 

“ P. S. — Can I please have Samaritan ? ” 

Two months later letter number two reached 
Blackthorne : — 


42 


A Maid of Mettle 


Brishane, 

“Dear Leo:n'ARD, — We did enjoy the voyage. 
At the first Betty was so ill, she expected she’d die, 
but a good appetite set in when the wind dropped, 
and saved her. Sam howled a deal at first, but Mrs. 
Talbert being a good sailor sat on the deck most 
days, and gradually got much stronger. She thinks 
it best not to write my book until I have definitely 
fixed upon a plot, and arranged my ideas a little, so 
we did reading, and music, and I have painted you 
a picture called, ‘ Sunset in the Tropics.’ Mrs. Tal- 
bert fears that the sea is too majentry, but a very 
interesting gentleman on board assured me he had 
seen a majenta sea in the Tropics. The sunsets I 
think you would have admired the most were those 
just when the sun was dipping below the sea like a 
great ball of red fire, and the water was twinkling 
with light, all heliotrope, pink, and blue. But it 
got dark too quickly to get the colors in, for the 
dinner gong would sound as the sun set, and by the 
time we sat at table the electric lights were on. 

“ It is very hot here, although it is spring. We 
have mosquito curtains round our beds to keep the 
mosquitoes off, but we are onl}^ staying in Bris- 
bane two nights, that is Bett}^ and I, who are 
going up country to Betty’s cousins, and so I can- 


Emancipation 43 

not describe the city to you as I am in much haste, 
and have only seen it from the window of our 
hotel. 

‘‘Dlja. 

“ P. S. — Mrs. Talbert is very gentle, and is never 
silly. But she never lets you off your duty. — Di.” 

The next communication, dated two months later, 
was written in the form of a diary in an exercise- 
book, and had, in a moment of impulse, evidently 
been dispatched instead of a letter. 

‘‘ Blue RoclCy Novemher 1st. 

“ Mrs. Talbert says a good way to train for liter- 
ary work is to keep a diary, and correctly write 
down in it everything observed. 

“ This diary is strictly private, and for no other 
eye but my own. 

Betty’s uncle, Mr. Fosbrey, called for us with 
his dray and two horses. At first I thought him a 
rough man. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, and 
trousers called moleskins, but when he spoke he 
was a gentleman. He was so fond of his sister, 
Mrs. Talbert, that he lifted her right up in his arms. 
Mrs. Talbert did not come with us into the interior, 
not being strong, but stayed in Brisbane with her 


44 


A Maid of Mettle 


sister. Betty’s two eldest cousins came with Mr. 
Fosbrey, for the ‘ jaunt ’ he said, and to welcome 
us, and keep us company on the way home ; which 
took two days, sleeping in tents at night, and jolted 
fearful. 

“The boy cousin is called Mervyn — Mym for 
short, a rather nice name, I think — has a sunburnt 
face, brown eyes and hair, in age is seventeen, and 
in height a head and neck taller than me. He is a 
softy. Betty got cross because I called him ‘ The 
Smiler.’ So silly of Betty to like a boy, I hate ’em. 
Boys say things they think funny, and laugh at 
them themselves. Men say funny things and make 
you laugh. 

“ I sat by Mr. Fosbrey on the driver’s seat, and 
Betty sat behind with Myrn and her Cousin Fanny, 
who nemr turns red and brown in the sun, but is 
quite fair, and is nearly always laughing, which 
makes me wild^ and keeps Betty tittering. 

“The road is very rude and rough, with the 
native trees still standing, and often running 
through timber reserves, on which people feed 
their cattle and sheep. 

“I don’t believe Betty observed anything, she 
kept up such a chatter with Myrn and Fanny ! It’s 
no use coming so far to broaden our minds if Betty 


Emancipation 45 

won’t have them broadened ; one would imagine 
any one would do just as well as me to take care of 
her, the way she goes on ! 

“ ‘ You’re jealous ! ’ she said. That was in the 
tent when we were in bed. Jealous ! 

“ They pump water into dams for the animals ; it 
is usually brackish, and although very healthy, is 
disagreeable; but they use rain water for house 
purposes ; it is caught in large corrugated iron 
tanks, usually occupied by frogs, which help to keep 
it pure.” 

Here Leonard broke off in his perusal of the 
diary to laugh so heartily that it was as well for 
Dija’s feelings that she did not hear him. Her 
confidences would have had no continuation. But 
a very tender expression lingered about the read- 
er’s face as he read on : — 


“ November 2d. 

“ It was too hot last night to finish about the 
journey. Sam was so thirsty and tired when we 
camped, and looked as though he was thinking of 
Leonard, and the day he flogged the man for beat- 
ing him. We camped early by a clump of trees. 
The trees were chiefly box, of a very brown-green, 
of scanty foliage, and there is a queer kind of 


A Maid of Mettle 


46 

grass ; it has several little spikes starting from a 
ball. Mr. Fosbrey said there had been no rain for 
months, and water was scarce, so when we came 
across it, we went no further that night, but Avhile 
Mr. Fosbrey ‘hobbled’ the horses and fed them, 
Myrn made a fire and boiled the ‘ billy ’ for tea. 
We had tea and damper — bread — which Betty said 
was like cold pancake without any sugar, and 
tinned meat and fruit and things, and then Mr. 
Fosbrey and Myrn fixed the tents ; and just then 
we saw a kangaroo, and off went Sam and hunted 
it to a water-hole. Myrn says he has helped to 
hunt an old-man kangaroo, which stood seven feet 
high. If they catch you, they will rip you open 
with their long claws ; the dogs often get torn. I 
was so afraid for Sam, but the kangaroo was very 
small, and Sam killed it. 

“ It did feel creepy and lonely in the tent. A 
fire was burning outside, and Mr. Fosbrey sat be- 
side it, with his gun on the ground, smoking. 
Myrn had his gun too ; I like a boy to shoot. 

“ Betty peeped through the canvas at the stars. 

“ ‘ How big they are ! ’ she said, ‘ and bright ; but 
I’m frightened, aren’t you, Di ? ’ 

“ ‘ Stuff ! ’ I said, ‘ it’s a pity you came if you’re 
going to be frightened at the least little thing.’ 


Emancipation 47 

“‘ Well, so I do feel afraid,’ she said. And just 
then there was a queer howl a long way off. 

“ ‘ Onl}’’ a dingo — a native dog ! ’ called out Mr. 
Fosbrey, ‘don’t be alarmed,’ as the weird sounds 
echoed among the hills. 

“Betty sat down on the mattress and cried — 
only just a little. 

“ ‘ I’m afraid mother will be lonely without me,’ 
she said. Just at that moment the force came up 
strong inside me, and I laughed. 

“ ‘ So mother will miss me,’ she said. 

“ ‘ You think a lot of yourself,’ I said. Then she 
said I was jealous, and she wished people with 
tempers would stay at home, and gave me a smack 
with the hair-brush, and I wasn’t going to stand 
that ! 

“ ‘ Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands 
to do,’ I said. 

“ Then she gave me another smack, harder than 
the first, so I snatched the brush out of her hand 
and threw it out of the tent. It must have hit 
Samaritan, for he gave an awful yelp and scam- 
pered away. I expect he thought it snakes or 
something. 

“ ‘ I hate you ! ’ said Betty ; ‘ you’re getting 
quite a nasty girl, and spoil all the fun. It’s a 


A Maid of Mettle 


48 

wonder I ever did like you, and Fanny thinks 
you’ve got a wicked look in your face — she calls 
you my friend of the peppery countenance, and 
whatever mother would say to you throwing away 
my ivory brush, I don’t know.’ 

‘‘ And Betty began to cry. I don’t believe Mrs. 
Talbert would have approved of Betty’s smacking 
me either. But it was all my fault. Betty is not 
a strong girl, and she was tired. And I am never 
tired. I wished I might be, then I could, perhaps, 
become ill and die. If I died, everybody might 
wish they’d been kinder. But I believe I mostly 
like being alive ; it doesn’t do you any good if peo- 
ple are kinder when you’re dead. And Betts is 
very patient with me too — it was that other girl ! 
So I peeped out of the tent, and Mr. Fosbrey and 
Myrn did not notice me slip at the back of the 
bushes. I crept out a little further and further 
into the bush. It was so ghostly. I was almost 
afraid to go far, but as that was the time I didn’t 
like being alive very much — to be called a peppery 
countenance — I sat down where I was, and I did 
cry so. Eb other eye will ever read these words. 

“ Then suddenly I got a fearful start. 

“ ‘ Coo-ee, coo ee ! ’ 

“ It was Mr. Fosbrey calling for me. 


Emancipation 49 

“‘Why, Dija,’ he said, coming up, ‘whatever 
made you leave the tent and wander here all 
alone ? Bless my heart ! we shall be having you 
lost, or some other fine thing. You are not in the 
Park at Blackthorne,’ which I knew I wasn’t. 
People don’t get hit with hair-brushes and called 
names there, even when they deserve it. 

“ Betty was crying very much when I went back 
to the tent ; she was very sad about me, poor girl. 
Ladies don’t have to ask each other to apologize, so 
we both apologized. We said we were sorry a lot 
of times. Betty thought it was the damper had 
got on her chest — her mother never liked her to 
eat heavy bread. And she promised me faithfully 
to take my silver-backed brushes in place of the 
one I threw away. 

“We had just got to sleep when something 
bumped up against the tent, and Betty clutched at 
me, and shrieked, ‘ It’s a kangaroo ! ’ 

“ Then we heard Myrn laugh, and Mr. Fosbrey 
called out, ‘ It’s only the horse, my dears,’ and 
Fanny needn’t have come in for company, 
crowding us awfully, and kissing us — cheek, I 
call it ! 

“ ‘ You’ll soon be a couple of little Australians, 
and get used to all this,’ she said. 


50 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Will I ? Not if I know it ! Mind, indeed ! 
Who Avants her protecting Betty ? I felt for 
Betty’s hand, and she whispered, ‘ It’s saul right, 
Dija ! ’ 

“ And then it only seemed a minute before it was 
morning.” 

“ November 7th. 

“ I have read over this diary, and find I don’t 
like the last part of it — it sounds mean. That 
about Betty was not force, it was temper. Force 
is used against obstacles, temper against friends. 
Betts is my own friend, and I was jealous. This is 
for no other eye, or I should cross out about the 
hair-brush. The weather is horrid, and the mos- 
quitoes worry, and I Avish I Avas someAvhere cool. 
Our garden and the garden at Blackthorne is 
always cool. But I don’t Avant to go back for years 
and years. Myrn is going to teach me to shoot and 
ride bare-back. Wouldn’t mother squeal to see me ! 
And Avhen I go back to England just think hoAV 
surprised Leonard Avill be Avhen I take the fences 
Avithout a saddle ; but perhaps Mrs. Harper Avould 
think that rather Avild.” 


“ November 9th. 

“ I don’t think that I shall Avrite any more diary. 


Emancipation 51 

The worst of a diary is there are so many ‘ I’s ’ in 
it ; it seems conceited, and always talking about 
yourself. I shall write about our second day’s jour- 
ney in the form of a book, and call it ‘ The Second 
Day, or A Lonely Kide in a Dray.’ I shall begin 
to-morrow. To-day I am going with Myrn into the 
bush to see him shoot paroquets.” 


Noveinher 10th. 

“ Of course, I wrote this diary after we got here. 
My story will be about the journey. Snakes of all 
descriptions abound: black snakes, brown snakes, 
carpet snakes, green snakes, and many others. The 
smaller kind, such as the black snake, are the most 
poisonous ; they will kill a person in twenty min- 
utes, Myrn says. Myrn is not such a duffer as I 
thought him. I have left off calling him ‘The 
Smiler,’ because he has left off giggling with Betty. 
Betty says that it is my fault for always wanting 
to broaden my mind, and do things that boys do. 
Myrn says I’m a brick — I like a boy to call you a 
brick ; it shows he doesn’t think you a soft}^ Myrn 
[never smiles at me ; he sometimes laughs. He jerks 
his head back when he laughs, and shows his teeth. 
The end of my diary. 


Dija.” 


52 


A Maid of Mettle 


The Second Day, or a Lonely Kide in a Dray 

BY DIJA 

The sun rose on two young girls, traveling far 
from home in Queensland. There was another girl 
called rann}^^, and a boy named Myrn, the cousins 
of the Fair Girl, who, with their father, Mr. F., 
had journeyed many miles in a dray to meet the 
Fair Girl, and her friend the Dark Girl, who came 
with her because she felt her too young and gentle 
to go alone. 

The night before, the Fair Girl had called the 
Dark Girl jealous, and while the stars were shining 
in the sky, and the dingoes howled in the distant 
hills, the Dark Girl wept, but falling into a pro- 
found slumber, slept till the stars set in the night 
sky, and day dawned. Already it was hot, for the 
sun had risen early, and the gentle breeze had dried 
the dew, and several kinds of flies were worrying 
man and beast. The gentlemen retired while the 
ladies bathed in a water pool, during which Fanny 
laughed, and splashed as though she enjoyed it, 
for Australian girls always seem to be enjoy- 
ing themselves; but when some dark sediment 
rose from the bottom of the pool, and stuck on 


Emancipation 53 

the Fair Girl’s skin, and Fanny laughed the 
more, the Fair Girl called Queensland a beastly 
place ! 

Poor child ! she was tired with the previous day, 
and the emotions of the night. 

It is a wonder that the insects don’t run away 
with Queensland ; the earth is moving with them. 
Millions of ants of all sizes and colors — green head- 
jumpers, bulldogs, soldiers, black ants, sugar ants, 
village ants — when some kinds bite you, it feels like 
a needle running into you. Some of the smallest 
kinds build such large ant-heaps, like two or three 
hardened barrow loads of earth ; these attract the 
traveler’s eye on every side, and the bright eyes of 
our travelers being attracted, found it very inter- 
esting to watch, for, after the first shock wore off, 
the Fair Girl, with the arm of the Dark Girl thrown 
protectingly round her, took interest in observing 
that if one ant had too big a load, others went to 
help it, and getting it down a steep place, some held 
on behind, and some went in front to prevent it 
slipping too quickly. 

“You seem interested,” said the youth Myrn, ap- 
proaching the Dark Girl and her friend with that 
easy grace of manner which distinguished him from 
the common man, although dressed exactly the 


54 


A Maid of Mettle 


same, in moleskin trousers, white flannel shirt, and 
broad hat (the difference being the shirt was clean). 

The Dark Girl drew herself up haughtily, but 
Myrn proceeded : “ They’re jolly little chums, they 
all work in such union and method. In wet weather, 
when they are flooded out of their houses, they 
come into the house in streams, and nothing will 
keep them out.” 

“The black ants and meal ants come into the 
house at any time,” interrupted Fanny, w^ho looked 
very cool and clean in her white frock. “They 
steal the cake, and sugar, and the safes and sugar- 
bags have to be hung on wires.” 

“What is a centipede like?” asked the Dark 
Girl. 

“ It is a horrible grub,” answered Myrn ; “ it has 
a grayish black hard back, with numbers of joints 
like armor, any amount of thick, short legs on each 
side, and a hard tail ending in a spike. Its bite is 
poisonous. The scorpion is another little brute.” 

“ Look ! ” cried Fanny, holding her brother by the 
left hand, and revealing the fact that the third fin- 
ger was missing. “ The result of a centipede bite. 
Once Myrn was bitten, and, before he called out, 
he cut off his finger with his penknife to prevent the 
poison circulating.” 


Emancipation 55 

At mention of this brave deed, the youth turned 
away, and said that Mr. F. was ready for a start. 

The sun rose higher into the blazing heavens, as 
on and on went the dray into the lonely interior. 
Beautiful butterflies fluttered happily among the 
flowers in the grass, big and little dragon flies 
whizzed through the air, or hovered about the water 
holes — red, pale blue, green, yellow, others of a more 
sombre hue. Snow-white cockatoos floated about 
the mountain bush, with more rare black ones with 
flame-colored crests and tails. Gorgeous parrots 
with scarlet wings, and vivid green paroquets flitted 
about in flocks, while dainty cocktails haunted the 
streams, some brown, some crimson, with black 
heads and tails, which they waggled about in a very 
conceited way. 

On, and on, and on, all that da}^ went the dray 
towards the mountains. Sometimes the Fair Girl 
slept under the shade of a large white umbrella 
lined with green, her fair and fragile beauty flushed 
with the heat, and fanned by her Cousin Fanny, who 
was always cool, and hummed tunes, while the Dark 
Girl and the youth beguiled the way with strange 
tales, Mr. F. driving in silence and flicking flies from 
the horses with his whip. 

Towards the end of the afternoon, the curiosity 


A Maid of Mettle 


56 

of the visitors to see a native was gratified, but it 
was a baby native. The party had alighted and 
camped for tea, and were strolling about the bush, 
when suddenly the stillness was broken by the 
screaming of a child. “ Wait ! ” said Mr. F. to the 
girls. “ Come on, Myrn,” and he and his son disap- 
peared among the bush. After a few moments the 
screaming became louder than ever, and then 
gradually ceased. 

“ Whatever is it ? ” asked the Fair Girl, “ is some- 
body being killed ? ” 

“I expect not,” replied Fanny, “more likely 
somebody lost.” 

And so it proved. Quite a long time passed be- 
fore the voices of Myrn and Mr. F. were heard re- 
turning, and another funny little jabbery voice, and 
presently they appeared, Mr. F. carrying a brown 
baby. 

“ Here’s a piccaninny for you ! ” he called out, 
and the Dark Girl took it in her arms, and at touch 
of the brown flesh felt a horrid sort of feeling to 
throw the child away, for which she was soon sorrv. 
Samaritan set up barking, and the baby cried, 
showing by its teeth it must be two years old. 

“ Where’s its mother ? ” asked the girls at once. 

“ Dead,” said Myrn, pointing into the bush. “ I 


Emancipation 57 

expect she was journeying from one place to an- 
other, perhaps with a tribe, and, falling sick, was 
left to die.” 

Then the girl who held the baby was ashamed 
she hadn’t liked to touch it, and hugged it up close, 
but perhaps piccaninnies don’t like being hugged, 
for it began to kick, and roll its eyes, and make no 
end of squeaky noises, which Myrn said was trying 
to talk in its own language. 

“ Ugh ! ” said he, in a tone of disgust, “ fancy 
kissing that thing! Just as well kiss a toad. 
Girls are mighty given to kissing — chuck it into 
the river, that’s the best place for it I ” 

And Fanny and her cousin laughed. Mr. F. was 
busy with the horses, and did not hear these re- 
marks. 

“ It has a beauty of its own,” said the Dark Girl, 
“ look at its ebony skin ! ” 

‘‘ You’d better adopt it I ” cried Fanny. 

“ You’re a mug ! ” said the Dark Girl, angrily ; 
and Myrn got very red. 

“ You’re another yourself,” he said, sticking up 
for his sister, and making such a fearful face at the 
piccaninny that it was frightened. What with its 
shrieking, and Sam’s barking, nobody heard Mr. F. 
till he was quite close. 


58 A Maid of Mettle 

“ What’s to do ? ” he asked. 

“ Di’s going to have Miss Ebony for her very 
own child ! ” said Myrn. 

At this, the Dark Girl’s temper would not stay 
down. 

“ You’re a rude boy, besides being a brute ! ” she 
said. 

“ Oh, thanks ! ” said he, and walked off to the 
dray, whistling. 

Nobody spoke for some time as they rode on in 
the deepening twilight. The nurse of the picca- 
ninny fed it with biscuits, and gave it some con- 
densed milk ; but it did not eat nicely, it sort of 
gobbled as though very hungry, or in bad manners, 
stuffing the food into its mouth with both 
hands. 

“Well?” said Mr. F. at last, “think you can 
train it in the way it should go, eh? It will 
take some trying — comes of an idle, greedy, dis- 
honest, unintelligent race, don’t you know ! The 
Australian blacks are vastly different from the 
Maoris ; you can do little to civilize them. I tried 
it once. When I was a young fellow, I lived on a 
station on the Eiver Darling, and riding one morn- 
ing round the boundaries, picked up a sick boy 
whom his tribe had deserted in their march. My 


Emancipation 59 

sisters nursed him back to life, and we kept him to 
do odd jobs, but could get no satisfaction from him 
till we discovered his love of music. One day I 
heard him whistling operatic selections, and ac- 
companying himself on the barbed wire fence. On 
questioning him, it appeared he had listened while 
the young ladies played and sang. So to induce 
him to work, Mrs. Fosbrey gave him lessons on a 
little fiddle, and he was allowed to play as a re- 
ward. But one day we found the clothes he hated 
wearing left in a little pile — he had decamped with 
a passing tribe, and taken the fiddle with him ! 
Now, if you adopted a little Maori girl, you might 
hope to make a B. A. of her ! ” 

But little Miss Ebony had gone to sleep wrapped 
in a soft shawl, and did not look at all wicked or 
ugly in the starlight; the girl nursing her hoped 
she might be allowed to keep her for a time till 
some black woman of her own tribe would take 
care of her. It wouldn’t be much more trouble 
than keeping a dog. But she hoped that Miss 
Ebony would wear clothes — she could cut up some 
of her pinafores and things to make them. And 
her own friend didn’t seem to want her as much as 
she used to do. And it is so nice to take care of 
some one. 


6o 


A Maid of Mettle 


It was quite dark when Myrn changed his seat, 
and said in a low tone : 

“ I waa rude, and I beg your pardon.” 

“ So was I — and I’m sorry.” 

“ I was only chaffing,” he proceeded, “ but you’re 
such a queer kid. I don’t know what to make of 
you — you’re not like most girls.” 

Which made her feel all wrong, for she never, 
never seemed to go right, and she felt a choke in 
her throat when the dray suddenly stopped. A 
long, low building without shape or form, with 
tiny, tiny lighted windows, was just discernible 
under the mountains. 

“ Here we are ! ” exclaimed Mr. F., “ welcome to 
Blue Kock ! ” 

“ Dear Leonard, — This tale won'l come right, 
so I shall send it to you for a letter. This is such 
a queer place, and we’re having splendid fun. 
More later. 

‘•With love to all, 

“Dija.” 


CHAPTER lY 


ROUGHING IT 

« 

“ Blue BocJc, Becemher 6th. 

“ Dear Leonard, 

“ Mr. Fosbrey’s house is called ‘ The Shanty.’ 
It is a number of ‘ lean-to’s,’ added one after another, 
all snuggling up together, with queer little windows 
and doors. It stands in the shadow of a hill, close 
to the bush, which makes it very pleasant this hot 
weather, which is simply hroiling^ and makes you 
long for the stream and the shade at Blackthorne, 
and the dear, beautiful Christmas snow ! I cou],d 
just roll in it ! 

“ I hope dear godmother’s bronchitis is not bad 
with the cold ; this climate would suit it, for it is 
impossible to take a chill this baking weather, and 
Mrs. Talbert is much improved in health. She 
wrote me a beautiful letter on style in literature — 
‘ Aim at simplicity : first be sure of your fact, then 
state it briefiy.’ So in this letter, dear Leonard, if 
it seems a bit reserved and joggly, it isn’t, really — 

it’s style. I do want to be a gentlewoman, if pos- 
61 


62 


A Maid of Mettle 


sible, but I’d rather be a writer. Being only good 
is pulpy (pulpy is the slang term Myrn uses for 
soft). 

“The Fosbreys didn’t always live here. Once 
they lived on a large sheep station, fifty miles from 
Melbourne, and had a beautiful house, but when 
Mrs. Fosbrey died, her husband couldn’t bear it. 
Myrn said that he felt the same himself — the 
rooms without his mother in them choked him. 
You don’t miss anybody in a place where they’ve 
never been. 

“ Mr. Fosbrey ’s rooms occupy one ‘ lean-to,’ and 
open into the bush. They are his bedroom and 
his ‘ den.’ The bedroom hasn’t got much in it 
except an iron bedstead and a tin bath, but the 
‘ den ’ is crowded with books, guns, skins, stuffed 
snakes (which he has killed) and butterflies. Myrn 
says his father is a bit of a naturalist. When he is 
reading he looks very like his sister, Mrs. Talbert. 
He lets me read in his ‘ den ’ whenever I like — and 
he plays the piano beautifully and is teaching me, 
but he thinks my one accomplishment may be 
painting if I ‘ fag.’ 

“ ‘ There’s only one way to success at anything,’ 
he says, ‘ take right hold and never let go ’ ” 

Here Dija sighed heavily, and, pushing her dark 


Roughing It 63 

hair off her forehead, turned toward a small ham- 
mock that was suspended from the roof of her bed- 
room in which lay a soft bundle, safe from the at- 
tack of insects. 

“ I took right hold of Ebony,’’ she continued 
writing, “ and I’ve got her still. Mrs. Yincent, who 
keeps house, doesn’t much mind. ‘Well, ar’ — she 
says ‘ ar ’ for ‘ I ’ — ‘ Well, ar do declare I ’ was all 
she said ; ‘ ar reely do,’ and whenever she sees me 
nursing Ebony she shakes her head, and says ‘ Ar 
do declare, Miss Dija, ar reely do ! ’ 

“ Ebony is not a nice child. Sometimes she is 
horrid, and Sam, who is not accustomed to piccanin- 
nies, always barks at her. If I did not protect her 
she would have no one. I have made her some 
clothes which she dislikes very much, so she only 
wears a little print frock without any sleeves, and 
no shoes or stockings.” 

“Di,” called Myrn, suddenly appearing at the 
open window, “ don’t sit there writing all day ; let’s 
have a picnic in the bush.” 

Dija’s face was on a level with that of Myrn’s 
above the window-sill. 

“ Too hot,” she said shortl}^ Her face looked 
rather pale and tired. The piccaninny had been a 
good deal of trouble, and somehow, because of it. 


A Maid of Mettle 


64 

she had missed a large amount of fun. This was 
Mrs. Vincent’s baking-day, and Dija could not leave 
Ebony to her care. 

“ It will be jolly,” continued Myrn. “ Ten chances 
we see snakes. Just the weather, and you’ll have 
an opportunity of going for one. You’d like that, 
you know.” 

Dija had been practicing with a whip how to “ go 
for ” a snake. Her eyes lit. 

“We’d go in the ‘Jerkable,’ ” continued Myrn. 
The “ Jerkable” was a trap, so christened by Betty 
because it jolted. 

Although quite early, the morning was very hot, 
but at breakfast Betty and Fanny were so anxious 
for the outing that Dija threw herself with a will 
into the affair, and while Myrn cleaned the “ Jerka- 
ble ” and harnessed the horse Dija cut piles of deli- 
cate sandwiches. 

When the party were ready to go, Dija appeared 
leading Ebony by the hand. 

“ Oh, Di ! ” expostulated Betty, “ do leave her at 
home. She’ll spoil all the fun.” 

Fanny looked cross. 

“ If we say a word, Dija will appeal to father ! ” 
she said with a little sneer. 

Dija’s eyes blazed, her cheeks turning crimson. 


Roughing It 65 

Hot words rose to her lips, but she repressed them 
and said as quietly as she could : 

“ I am responsible for the care of Ebony. That 
was the condition, you remember. I should be sorry 
to spoil your fun — I can stay behind.” 

But at this Myrn wheeled round in the driver’s seat. 

“ Sta}^ at home yourself! ” he said to Fanny an- 
grily. “ I’m giving this picnic. I asked Dija — and 
the kid, of course. Get up, Di ! hurry up ! ” 

Dija did as requested, and almost before she was 
seated Myrn slashed angrily at the pony, which, al- 
ready maddened by the flies, made a bolt for it. 
The “ Jerkable” swayed from side to side over the 
rough uneven ground, and Betty, who had been 
upset, screamed in terror. 

Myrn soon had the pony under control. 

“ Be quiet, Betty,” said Fanny. “ What are you 
howling for ? ” 

I’m hurt ; I’m horrid hurt. And we’ll all be 
killed. Why couldn’t we have started nice and 
quietly ? ” 

Dija, who was picking Betty up, burst out laugh- 
ing. 

“ When do we do anything nice and quietly ? ” 

“Hot often,” grumbled Myrn. “Where there’s 
a parcel of girls a fellow gets no peace.” 


66 


A Maid of Mettle 


a Very polite ! ” said his sister scornfully. 

“ If I was as smooth as you I’d hire myself out as 
oil for troubled waters,” retorted Myrn. 

Dija touched him admonishingly on the arm, and 
he was silent. Fanny’s blue eyes noted the touch 
and its effect, and a little color mounted to her 
cheeks. Dija saw the look and the flush, and won- 
dered vaguely what she had done now. 

For some time it had been clear to her that Fanny 
disliked her. Beyond the courtesy due to a guest 
Fanny did not go, and not always was she courteous. 
This morning, for instance, there had been an in- 
sinuation in her tone that Dija appealed to Mr. Fos- 
brey to gain an unfair advantage, and Dija, who did 
not know that Fanny was very jealous, and that her 
only offense was in winning the affection of Mr. 
Fosbrey and Myrn, thought a little helplessly that 
she was always giving offense, and that it wasn’t 
the least use trying to avoid it ; so ignoring both 
girls, she clambered over the seat beside Myrn, 
and taking the reins, had a lesson in driving, com- 
pletely monopolizing the attention of Myrn. When 
they were not talking they were whistling duets to- 
gether, and the pony, doing pretty much as it liked, 
got them into a deep sandy rut. 

The jolt almost pitched them out of the trap. 


Roughing It 67 

After much exclamation they alighted ; but not all 
their coaxing could move the pony, nor all their 
pushing get the wheel out of the sand rut. Betty 
sat down philosophically by the wayside and fanned 
herself. 

“We can’t go any further,” she said, serenely. 
“ It’s saul right here ; let’s picnic here.” 

“But how are we to get home?” demanded 
Fanny. 

“ Oh, somehow ! ” replied Betty, who trusted im- 
plicitly to other people to get her out of her dif- 
ficulties. 

Myrn looked crestfallen and a little shamefaced. 

“ Somebody may ride past and give a hand.” 

But nobody answered that suggestion. They 
knew the small chance of that. In this desolate 
region “ somebodies ” were few, and might not ride 
past for months. 

“ Anyhow,” continued Myrn, “ I suggest that we 
lunch here, and see what’s to be done afterwards.” 

But a new difficulty presented itself — water. In 
the jerk of the trap the water-jar had been over- 
turned, and examination proved the cork out ; the 
precious liquid had poured itself into the greedy 
sand. 

“Now what are we to do?” cried Fanny; “we 


68 


A Maid of Mettle 


are in a mess, to be sure, and the pony, too ! I de- 
clare, Myrn, I’ll never come out with you again ; 
you always muddle things.” 

“ Wait till you’re asked,” retorted Myrn, and un- 
harnessed the pony which he mounted. 

“ You are not going to leave us *? ” queried Betty, 
with wide-open, frightened eyes. 

“ I’m going to find water ! ” said Myrn ; “ give me 
the bottle, Di,” and entering the bush he was out 
of sight in a moment, Sam at his heels. 

“ I don’t know how it is,” said Betty, dolefully ; 
“ everything goes wrong in the Colonies. In Eng- 
land it is so happy.” 

“ Perhaps people haven’t got any tempers there,” 
suggested Fanny, sweetly. 

“ They haven’t,” said Dija, ‘‘ nor manners either ; 
they live in savage simplicity ! ” 

She took Ebony by the hand and walked off. 
Her heart beat quickly — how came this strife ? She 
had been rude, she knew ; but was it all her fault ? 

“ Oh, I must go home ! I will tell Leonard all 
about it. It is my fault, nobody can get on with 
me ! ” 

She choked down her tears, then determined to 
make peace; and gathering chips to build a fire 
with which to boil the “ billy ” on Myrn’s return. 


Roughing It 69 

picked Ebony up in her arms and returned to the 
camp near the cart. 

But neither of the girls was very willing to “ make 
up ” ; thirst and general discomfort had ruffled 
Betty ; and Fanny who had ignored the claim the 
stranger had upon her, and who from the first had 
resented Dija, maintained a cool and aggravatingly 
unruffled demeanor, implying by glance and ex- 
pression that she thought Dija to blame for their 
discomfort. 

Myrn did not return. The heat was suffocating, 
and the little fire which Dija had prepared in an- 
ticipation of making tea sent up a pale blue smoke 
which got into her eyes and almost blinded her. 
But it made an excuse for their inclination to tears. 
Dija could not bear Betty’s complaint of thirst. 
She suggested eating to take it off, but Betty 
pushed the proffered sandwiches away, and Fanny 
said — 

“ Tt is impossible to eat with such a thirst.” 

Dija threw the sandwiches into the dust, and 
once more walked off with Ebony, who seemed 
neither thirsty nor hungry, nor in any way affected 
by her native heat. 

Turning into the bush with some thought of 
meeting Myrn, Dija strolled along, too much ab- 


70 


A Maid of Mettle 


sorbed in. her own thoughts to . notice which way 
she had taken. Presently Ebony dragged back 
with a curious, fearful crying, which roused Dija 
instantly. The little black child had, with her 
native instinct, scented danger. There, in front of 
them, slowly uncoiling itself from its midday 
sleep, its gray eyes fixed upon Ebony, was a snake. 
Quick as thought Dija, who carried her whip, 
struck, as she had been taught, across the crea- 
ture’s back. Writhing in pain it turned itself to 
Dija with a hiss of rage, and again Dija struck 
cleverly. But the snake, although a small one, 
was not easily killed ; and only that Dija did not 
for a moment lose her nerve and pluck, but with 
sure and practiced hand struck and struck again, 
she would never have gone back to England. 

At last she stood triumphant, but trembling, 
over her vanquished foe ; to make quite sure, she 
gave one or two blows at its head, then, with a 
shudder, turned to the screaming piccaninny, and 
hushed it in her arms. 

The encounter had excited Dija, and worked off 
what her stepfather called superfluous “ force.” 
Her one thought was to get back to the others, and 
tell them of her adventure. The tiff was forgotten. 

“ Better not write about it to little mother,” she 


Roughing It 71 

thought : “ it would frighten her to death ! ” But 
in imagination she added the adventure to Leon- 
ard’s letter. 

She stepped out briskly, scarcely feeling the 
burden in her arms. Not every girl had killed a 
snake ! Could a girl who had done so kill her own 
bad temper ? Surely ! 

Dija stopped suddenly as a thought struck her. 
She ought to be out of the bush by now. Where 
was she ? 

Her heart throbbed heavily. She put Ebony on 
her feet, and wiped the perspiration from her face, 
that exertion, excitement, and this new, strange 
fear had brought there. Her dark eyes were 
scared as she looked round — which way had she 
turned ? The trees were all alike — she had no 
landmark. 

Awful tales of men lost in the bush — lost through 
one wrong turning — came into her mind, and 
chilled her blood. Lost ! was she lost ? She put 
her hand to her mouth, and sent the long, far- 
reaching Australian cry down the leafy avenue. 

“ Coo-ee ! ” 

No answer. 

‘‘ Coo-ee ! ” 

Again the musical call died without a response. 


72 


A Maid of Mettle 


Then Dija, stooping, lifted Ebony again, who 
was whimpering for drink and food, and walk- 
ing as fast as the weight of the child would permit, 
called loudly as she walked. At last, exhausted, 
she sank to the ground and burst into tears. 

“ Poor piccaninny ! ” she cried ; “ you are fated 
to be lost.” 

****** 

Myrn came back with the water, tired and 
worried at his long absence from the girls. The 
water-hole he had counted on had proved dry, and 
he had had a long ride before he found another. 

So far the day had proved a failure, and the re- 
sponsibility of host was weighing rather heavily 
upon him. 

“ At last ! ” he called out encouragingly, as he 
sighted the girls. “ So sorry to have kept you 
waiting all this time.” 

He handed the “ billy ” to his sister, who put it 
on the fire to boil, for, thirsty as they were, they 
took the precaution of boiling the water. 

When he had fed the pony (who had been 
watered at the pool), Myrn noticed Dija’s absence. 

“ Where’s Di ? ” he asked, as he took a pannikin 
of tea from his sister. 

“ Sulks,” said Fanny, nodding towards the bush. 


73 


Roughing It 

“I don’t think Dija is quite well,” explained 
Betty. “She threw the sandwiches into the sand 
and walked away.” 

Myrn looked ruefully at the destroyed dainties ; 
then towards the bush. 

“ Shame !”'he said, referring to the sandwiches. 
“ Hand over the cake. But, I say, how long has 
Dija been in there ? ” 

“Hours,” answered Fanny. 

“ Hours ? ” 

“Well, an hour at least.” 

“ She must be parched. Poor Di I I wish you’d 
go and find her.” 

Betty thought everything was possible to every 
other person. Her eyes were rather moist at the 
thought of Dija’s personal discomfort. 

It was dawning upon her that they had not been 
very kind to Dija of late — Dija, who had always 
been her devoted champion until she, Betty, had 
deserted her for her Cousin Fanny. 

“ I’m going with you ! ” said Betty, who noticed 
Myrn’s anxious look as he started in the direction 
of the bush. Fanny followed reluctantly, and soon 
the leafy isles rang with “ Dija,” and then with loud 
“coo-ees.” 

Once they fancied they heard a faint far-off re- 


74 


A Maid of Mettle 


sponse, then Myrn, whose face had grown pale un- 
der the sunburn, said : 

“ You girls must go back to the cart.” He was 
notching a tree as he spoke, as a guide should Dija 
pass that way. “ You know the way, Fanny — that 
highest tree over there marks the spot. Keep call- 
ing as you go ” 

‘‘ Oh, Myrn ! ” exclaimed Fanny, “ you don’t 
think ?” 

“ Yes, I do,” said Myrn ; “ and it’s all your fault, 
too. Call yourself hospitable ? A fine hostess you 
make ! I wish our mother had been here ! ” 

The two girls stood where Myrn had left them, 
Fanny’s pretty face pale with fear. Myrn’s re- 
proach had stung and humiliated her. Myrn had 
loved his mother too tenderly to speak of her 
lightly, and at mention of her name Fanny realized 
how ill she had filled her mother’s place as 
hostess. 

Until Dija’s arrival she had been the centre of 
attraction in her father’s home. Her word, her 
wish had been law to father and brother, but Dija’s 
strong individuality had won a way for itself. Her 
love of adventure, her aptness at all sport had 
made her a favorite with the men. Her generous 
nature — even her violent temper — kept Dija con- 


75 


Roughing It 

tinually, though unconsciously, to the fore, and 
Fanny was accustomed to first place herself. She 
had not imagined that her Cousin Betty’s friend 
would so completely control Betty. 

‘‘ Oh, whatever shall we do ? ” sobbed Betty. 
“ If we have lost Dija whatever will become of us ? 
We daren’t tell mother, and Dija’s mother will die! 
She didn’t want her to come ; she said it was a 
horrid country, full of snakes and things, and now 
poor Dija’s lost and it’s saul your fault, for if you 
hadn’t said I was a booby letting Dija take care of 
me in that ridiculous fashion she’d have been tak- 
ing care of me now, and safe^ for when Di was 
taking care of me she was taking care of herself, 
too, for she never led me into danger.” 

Fanny stood amazed at this reasoning. 

“ And now the cart is stuck in a rut and Dija lost, 
and it’s saul your fault ! ” reiterated Betty. 

“Well, don’t cry, Betty, and if Dija is lost — 
which I don’t believe — Ebony is lost too, and you 
know you said you hated the piccaninny, and 
wished Dija would lose her I ” 

“Well, I don’t hate her that much that I want 
Dija to be lost because of her. But whatever will 
Dija’s mother say, and it’s saul your fault I ” 

“ You’ve said that three times. Cousin Bett,” re- 


A Maid of Mettle 


76 

sponded Fanny, “ and you needn’t have said it at 
all, because I know it.” 

The heat grew more oppressive as the afternoon 
dragged on ; a weight was in the air as well as on 
the girls’ spirits. They had called till they were 
hoarse and tired out. Betty had fallen asleep with 
her head on Fanny’s lap. 

An ominous stillness and cooling of the atmos- 
phere roused Fanny from her anxious thoughts. 
She looked up and at sight of the overcast sky gave 
an exclamation of dismay. The Australian knew 
what the darkness meant — a thunder-storm. 

If she had been alone, she would long ago have 
set off on foot for Blue Kock to get help. Neither 
the distance nor the loneliness would have appalled 
her. Trained to solitude, she had no fear ; accus- 
tomed to walk and ride long distances over rough 
country, she could endure physically ; but her deli- 
cate little cousin had not strength for such a feat. 

Fanny woke the sleeper. 

“ Betty, dear, it is going to rain ! ” 

She did not say storm, for Betty was afraid of 
thunder. But when Betty looked up she under- 
stood. She turned quite white. 

“A thunder-storm! And Dija! Oh, where’s 
Myrn ? ” 


77 


Roughing It 

The first low rumbling of thunder was heard. 

“IS’ow, Betty,” said Fanny firmly, “there is 
nothing to be frightened of in a little thunder. 
Stand here a moment while I unfasten the pony.” 

Fanny ran as she spoke to where the pony was 
tied under the tree, showing signs of uneasiness. 
She secured his cloth, then led him free of the 
trees, knowing that to shelter beneath trees in a 
thunder-storm was to be in danger of lightning. 
As she led the pony into the open, the first blind- 
ing flash of lightning came, followed by a terrific 
crash of thunder. 

With a scream of terror, Betty flew for the 
shelter of the cart; but Fanny, with scant cere- 
mony, dragged her from underneath, and taking the 
rug which had served as a cushion, wrapped her 
terrified cousin in it, head and all, then stood with 
a protecting arm about her in an open space. 

The bundle trembled violently as peal on peal 
broke overhead. It seemed hours to Fanny that 
they stood thus in the blinding rain in a semi-dark- 
ness made livid by frequent lightning flashes. 

At last it was over. She was wet to the skin, but 
she did not release her trembling captive till the 
thunder had muttered itself into the far distance 
and the sun was shining cheerily. Then Betty 


y8 A Maid of Mettle 

came out of her nest warm and dry, though very 
miserable. 

Fanny looked at the setting sun, and, knowing 
how short a time the light would last after it had 
gone down, realized the importance of getting 
Betty home if possible. A fresh examination of 
the cart showed that the force of water that had 
run into the rut from the rain-saturated ground had 
loosened the sand and moved the obstruction to the 
wheels. 

Fanny knew at once what to do, and harnessed 
the pony which had stood quietly near through all 
the storm. 

“ Are we going to leave Dija ? ” 

‘‘ No, Betty,” replied Fanny. “ We are going 
home to send help.” 

Betty submitted. But just as Fanny was about 
to lash the pony for the effort required to get to 
higher ground, Betty called out joyfully, “Myrn! 
See, Fanny — running towards us ! ” 

He reached them panting and out of breath. To 
their eager enquiries he shook his head. Then, as 
though he could not trust his voice to speak, he 
turned to the task of getting the cart out of the rut. 

It was a silent ride home. There was nothing to 
say. Myrn drove fast, but Betty did not grumble 


Roughing It 79 

at the jolting — she was crying quietly all the 
way. 

Myrn’s face was set like the face of a man, his 
eyes were traveling ahead of them all the way, 
every step of which the pony seemed to know. 

When they reached the boundary gate a tall 
figure stepped out of the twilight to open it. Mr. 
Fosbrey’s voice had a strained tone in it as he 
spoke. 

“I was getting anxious. Myrn, I’m surprised 
you are so late. I suppose the storm detained you ? 
Anyhow, I must veto these wild-goose excursions 
unless I am in charge. Something will be happen- 
ing to somebody.” 

There was no answer from the cart. 

“ I expect you are all drenched and famished ? ” 
he asked kindly, closing and barring the gate. 
“ Ready for supper, eh, Dija ? ” 

“ Oh, uncle ! ” came a wailing voice through the 
darkness, “ Dija’s not here — she’s lost and dead ! ” 
Half an hour later the boundary gate was un- 
barred again and a party of men rode through, 
going in search of Dija with lanterns and dogs — 
Myrn leading. 

****** 

Dija had hushed the piccaninny to sleep before 


8o 


A Maid of Mettle 


the darkening of the forest shades, and the fright- 
ened twitter of the birds warned her of the storm. 
Her lips were parched with thirst, her head 
throbbed with weariness, her eyelids were swollen 
with tears. She had blamed herself till she could 
blame no more. Every pining of Ebony’s had 
stabbed her, and if the little black baby was to die 
of thirst and hunger because of her — oh, how she 
prayed it might die in its sleep — “ so not to feel ! ” 

The first rumble of thunder startled Dija — not 
for herself, but for the child. She drew the pic- 
caninny closer as though to protect her ; then the 
crash that had startled Betty and the blinding 
lightning flash told that the storm had fully broken. 

Then came the sound as of musketry — the falling 
of a million rain-drops upon a million leaves. 
Quickly the sound descended till it reached the 
ground, then Dija, with a glad cry, laid Ebony 
down and, divesting herself of her frock, covered 
the baby. She then held out her hands to catch 
the water. In a moment there were cool pools 
from which to drink, and, making a cup with a 
large leaf, Dija let the piccaninny drink all she 
could. 

The relief from thirst at first overbalanced the 
terrors of the storm. But presently both Dija and 


8i 


Roughing It 

Ebony were wet through, and although Dija cud- 
dled the black baby close to her it screamed till it 
was exhausted. 

But, when the storm had passed and the lonely 
bush darkened, in silence and terror Dija crouched 
on the ground. All the past iove and warmth, her 
mother’s home, Leonard, Blackthorne, all that she 
had had seemed doubly dear. Would no one come 
— would no one ever find her ? Must she die there 
all alone ? 

“ Poor mummy ! ” she said, “ poor, poor 
mummy ! ” and then it seemed to Dija that she 
went to sleep. 

* * * * * * 

When she awoke she was in her own little room 

at The Shanty and she saw Mr. Fosbrey’s face 
bending anxiously over her, and heard Mrs. Vin- 
cent’s voice. 

“ Ar do declare she’s cornin’ to, ar reely do.” 

But it was many days before they told her that 
Ebony was dead. 

All this was added later to Leonard’s letter. 
“ But you are never, never to tell little mother,” she 
concluded, “ it would frighten her to fits, and it 
will never happen again, because we are not per- 
mitted to go picnicking any more unless Mr. Fos- 


82 A Maid of Mettle 

brey is with us — he does not think Myrn a responsi- 
ble person.” 

And when, one March morning, Leonard Harper 
read the letter, sixteen thousand miles away from 
Blue Eock, he quite agreed with Mr. Fosbrey, and 
walked up and down his study looking troubled. 
Then he sat down to write to Dija. 

****** 

“ Blue Boch, May 30th. 

‘‘ Dear Leonard, — 

“Your letter Avas scruTnjjtious—nW but the 
worrying part — so please don’t be anxious ; every- 
thing is ‘saul right’ as Betty says. We’re not al- 
lowed beyond the boundary without Mr. Fosbrey, 
which Myrn thinks absurd, and makes a boy look so 
ridiculous ! I mean Myrn may of course go Avher- 
ever he likes, but must not take us. ‘ Us ’ is only 
Betty and me, for in the Hew Year Fanny Avent to 
college in Brisbane to finish her education, and Mr. 
Fosbrey has taken us tAvo girls under his care. 
Jolly ! I like a man to teach you. We haA^e litera- 
ture, music, riding lessons — all impromptu, just as 
Mr. Fosbrey has time, sometimes all the evening ; 
and, now the rainy season has set in, Ave frequently 
study all the evening. It’s better than a party ! 
We have begun Tennyson, and are half through A 


Roughing It 83 

Dream of Fair ^Yomen. On holiday nights we 
play chess, and Mrs. Yincent says she ‘ really does 
declare ’ we are a happy party, and she’ll be sorry 
when we go back Home — Australians always spell 
England with a capital ‘ H ’ — I mean they always 
call it ‘ Home ’ ! 

“ Mr. Fosbrey permits me to go to his den when- 
ever I like — and I like to very often ! There are 
heaps and heaps of books and things. Hext best 
to you I like Mr. Fosbrey — for a man. I think he 
knows a great deal more than you — but that doesn’t 
matter. Of course you are a young man yet, and 
may improve ” 

Leonard got so far and then laughed, but read 
on — 

‘‘Mr. Fosbrey thinks a man of twenty-five a 
mere lad with his education mostly before 
him ” 

“ I’m much obliged,” murmured Leonard, “ there’s 
still a chance in life ! ” 

“ Myrn,” continued the letter, “ says he’s sick of 
sheep-farming and wants to be a doctor, so Mr. 
Fosbrey says, if that is so, to think as hard about it 
as he can, and definitely decide in six months. If 
he is stilL in the same mind, he is to go to Edin- 
burgh to college, and when Betty and I go back to 






A Maid of Mettle 


84 

England, he will sell his farm and live in town, to 
be near Fanny, for Fanny wants the polish of 
society. Then when she is polished, Fanny says 
she shall make a good marriage. In that case Mr. 
Fosbrey says his guardianship will no longer be 
necessary, and he will most likely go himself to 
England, and we should all meet again, and it 
would be jolly if godmother would ask us all to 
visit her together at Blackthorne — wouldn’t it ? 

“ I want Myrn to be a doctor — Myrn Fosbrey 
M. D., would sound rather well, don’t you think ? 
And I don’t think he would find it very difficult, 
because he can doctor animals so well, and set their 
broken limbs heautifully. He did Samaritan’s leg 
when he broke it in a trap — it would have made 
you weep to see poor Sam lick his hand when Myrn 
tied it in splints — I mean the leg. It is quite well 
now, and Sam isn’t as inquisitive as he used to be. 

“ It will be quite a year before we return — I ex- 
pect. Won’t it be jolly to go fishing together 
again ? 

Myrn said it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I were to 
marry him when he is a doctor ; but I told him that 
as you had proposed to me when I was quite a small 
child, it wouldn’t be honorable to have him till you 
had decided. I explained all the difficulties, and 


Roughing It 85 

about godmother’s objection to me — and Myrn 
thinks I shouldn’t do for you at all. He said being 
mistress of an old house like yours would be ‘ the 
burthen of an honor unto which I was not born.’ 
{Note : read Tennyson’s The Lord of Burleigh^ 

“ But everything can be decided when we meet. 

‘‘ Yours, Dija. 

“ F. S. — Myrn says he doesn’t think, for your 
class^ you are at all pulpy. 

“ F. F. S. — I think this is like Blackthorne — 

“ ‘ last me thought that 1 had wander'd far 
In a wood : fresh-washed in coolest dew. 

The maiden splendors of the morning star 
Shook in the stedfast blue. 

“ ‘ Enormous elm-tree holes did stoop and lean — 

Anon the dusky brushwood underneath — 

Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest 
green, 

New from its silken sheath.’ 

A Dream of Fair Women. 

“Dl.” 

“She hasn’t forgotten,” said Leonard, with a 
smile. 


CHAPTER V 


THE ARRIVALS 

“ All aboard ! ” 

The 10 A. M. train for Dover began to move 
slowly from Victoria Station. 

A fair-haired girl, about sixteen, leaned out of the 
window of a second-class compartment, and waved 
her hand to a lady and two gentlemen upon the 
platform. “ Good-bye, Mrs. Moies ! Good-bye, Dr. 
Moies ! Good-bye, Captain ! ’’ 

Barbara Clare’s eyes were bright with tears as 
she gazed longingly after the fast-receding figures. 
The great station, with its life and bustle, was 
blotted out as by a mist. Then surreptitiousl}^ and 
quietly she wiped her eyes in a dainty precise sort 
of way, and thrusting her handkerchief into her 
pocket, as though putting temptation from her, 
sank back with a deep sigh into her corner seat, 
quite oblivious of the fact that three pairs of eyes 
were steadily regarding her — two pairs of which 

were blue as her own, and belonged to a small bov 
86 


The Arrivals 87 

and girl, who were — the young man opposite de- 
cided — a brother and sister. 

Leonard Harper was interested. In his quiet 
gray eyes, there came a look of sympathy. He 
saw the girl was fighting to subdue some emotion 
that very nearly got the mastery. “ Ah ! ” he said 
to himself with a sense of relief, “she’s better 
now.” 

Barbara moved to make the children comfort- 
able, and Leonard noted that the ribbon that tied 
the heavy plait of hair which hung to her waist 
was black ; so also was her neat-fitting dress. Her 
small charges, too, had black ribbons on their 
broad- brimmed sailor hats. 

“ Hot for their mother, I hope,” thought the man 
of twenty-seven, whose own gray-headed mother 
would welcome him later, at Blackthorne. 

After some moments of self-absorbed silence Bar- 
bara became fully conscious of the stranger oppo- 
site ; he seemed intent on his paper, but to her con- 
fusion she saw that both the children were intent 
upon him ; stolidly staring with an undisguised 
stare. 

“ Jackie, Elizabeth ! ” she gently admonished. 

“ I’m looking at ze man,” explained Elizabeth 
without a blink. 


88 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ I’m ’shamed of you, Lizzie-Bess,” said Jackie 
solemnly, his eyes fixed upon the object of their 
discussion, “ he’s not a man, he’s a gentle- 
man.” 

“ Children ! ” entreated Barbara, flushing. Then, 
as she met the stranger’s eyes, “ I beg you to ex- 
cuse them.” 

“They are only babies,” he answered, with 
pleasant indulgence. 

“ I’m six,” volunteered Jackie, a fat hand resting 
on each fat knee. “ Lizzie-Bess is only five. When 
she’s six she will know better. Myself is not rude. 
Little mother says, if I am good I shall see the 
Queen ! ” 

“ See ze dear Queen ! ” echoed Elizabeth, wrink- 
ling her nose as she smiled ingratiatingly. 

With a hasty movement Barbara lifted the child, 
so that she might look through the window, and in 
a low voice asked Jackie not to talk. There were 
people Jackie talked to at first sight and people he 
would never talk to at all. When he talked there 
was never any knowing what he might say. 

“Myself will not talk,” he answered gravely. 
“ I said to Lizzie-Bess the gentleman is not a man, 
and that I am six, and if I am obedient I shall see 
the Queen. But if I talk, and am disobedient, the 


/ 


The Arrivals 


89 

Queen will be ’shamed of me. In England the 
boys do as they are told ; they don’t run in the 
paddocks and make a noise. I wish my father 
wasn’t dead,” he added abruptly, with a sudden 
pitiful quivering of the lips. “ The horse killed 
him,” he added, as he met Leonard’s eyes. 

Leonard held out his hand and drew the lad to 
his knees. 

He looked in Barbara’s direction again, but she 
had turned her head away, and appeared lost in 
contemplation of the view. Jackie studied his 
companion with serious scrutiny. 

“ I like you,” he remarked casually. “ What’s 
your name ? ” 

Elizabeth scrambled down, and sidling along with 
her back to the seat, echoed in her sweet treble, 
‘‘ What’s your name ? ” 

Leonard told them laughingly. 

“ O,” said Jackie, ‘‘have you seen the Queen ? ” 

“ Several times.” 

“ Was zoo good ? ” asked Elizabeth, right in 
front of him. 

“ Lizzie-Bess, I’m ’shamed of you ! gentlemen 
don’t have to be obedient.” 

“ It is no use,” sighed Barbara. “ I canH keep 
them quiet.’ 


90 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Please don’t mind. They amuse me immensely. 
Pm rather fond of children.” 

He’s fond of us,” affirmed Jack. “We amuse 
him ’mensely.” 

“ They do not mean to be rude,” said Barbara, 
her sweet sad face very earnest in its pleading, 
“ but they have lived in the country all their lives, 
and have only known a very few people. My 
father’s sheep-station was isolated, and they were 
the only children for miles around — so please ex- 
cuse their manners.” 

“We shall be very much obliged to you if you 
will excuse our manners,” said Jackie, with great 
gravity. 

The term “ sheep-station ” caught Leonard’s ear. 
He knew that it signified an Australian farm. His 
curiosity was aroused, but he was too well-bred to 
question a strange lady, who was evidently un- 
chaperoned, and appeared to be in sole charge of 
the two children. Her motherly care of them, her 
evident anxiety that they should appear to advan- 
tage, was in such contradiction to her own youth 
that there was something pathetic about it. But 
while her manner was simple, there was something 
self-possessed and dignified that commanded re- 
spect. 


The Arrivals 


91 


The suggestion of Australia reminded Leonard of 
an unread letter in his pocket, received just before 
starting for the train. Lizzie-Bess had gone back 
to her sister, and was leaning her head drowsily 
against Barbara’s knee. The big blue eyes had 
that contemplative look which precedes a child’s 
sleep ; Jackie was occupied with the — to him — 
novel sight of houses and fields racing past in quick 
succession. 


“ Blue Bock^ Queensland^ March, 
^‘Dear Leonard” — the letter began. ‘‘It is 
ages since I wrote you a real budget, and if you 
don’t want one now, tear it up before you go on 
any further, for I’m in a remembery mood (‘ Ee- 
membery ’ is a word not in the dictionary). 

“ It is more than three years since I left England 
— wasn’t I a tomboy of a girl? When mother 
married Mr. E’ettlethorpe how I raged ! But when 
he persuaded mother to let Mrs. Talbert bring me 
to Australia with Betty I thought him a dear ! I 
must have been a horrid girl. I used to wish Mrs. 
Talbert was my mother, and not Betty’s, because 
she was clever and could write. I’m sure I half 
despised my own mummy, because she was soft 
and small, and let me domineer over her. When I 


92 


A Maid of Mettle 


go home I shall feel queer. I’ve got out of all the 
old home ways. I’m not used to being fussed with 
and waited on. ‘ Roughing it ’ brings the grit out 
of a fellow — as Myrn says. But I’m tired of 
roughing it — the bush and snakes and drought get 
monotonous. I could roll for joy in an English 
field of buttercups, and kiss the daisies. This great 
silence is a quieting sort of thing. You feel funny 
and silly maldng a fuss about anything in these 
forests and spaces. It seems presumptuous, and as 
foolish as a small boy throwing a stone in a temper 
at the moon. 

“You know that lumpy feeling in your throat 
when thinking hurts ? Well, that’s how I feel 
about saying good-bye to Mr. Fosbrey and Myrn. 
I wish they were my relations as well as Betty’s — 
I call Mr. Fosbrey Uncle Fosbrey now. 

“ It is quite decided that Myrn is to be a doctor 
— so as soon as Mr. Fosbrey can dispose of the 
farm we three are coming Home. Home with a 
capital H! Silly Fluffyhead (I mean Fanny Fos- 
brey) is going to be married to a rich man— she 
said she would — and will live in Brisbane, where 
Mrs. Talbert is to remain also. Betty will, of course, 
go to her mother. Mrs. Talbert thinks she ought 
to finish her education under her own supervision. 


The Arrivals 


93 


“ I’ve had such a splendid tutor in Mr. Fosbrey. 
I don’t know whether mother will consider me well 
or ill educated ! Mr. Fosbrey has been very fas- 
tidious about us, although we have only been on a 
lonely sheep-station. It’s been so dear of him, for 
I am only the chum of his niece. And yet for 
three years I might have been his daughter, he has 
taken so much care of me. If I ever do anything 
well I shall love Mr. Fosbrey for it. You feel small 
when he disapproves of you — it is the thorough 
way he has of doing things that makes you take 
right hold. 

“ ‘ You must gri]^ if you want to have anything, 
or be anything,’ he says. ‘If you hold a thing 
loosely you will let it slip.’ 

“ When I told him my dream was to do some- 
thing — to write, he said: ‘Don’t dream — grind.’ 
And often after I have been grinding all day he will 
read my manuscript and leave me one sentence. 

“ ‘ That might pass,’ he’d say. 

“ At first I used to feel awfully wicked. Then 
one day he took me out, and showed me a wall he 
had built with stones he had collected one by one — 
for he couldn’t get bricks up here. It made my 
back ache to think of the times he had stooped to 
gather them. 


94 


A Maid of Mettle 


‘‘Why do I always want everything to come to 
pass swiftly f — waiting makes me sick ! But it’s 
been a lovely discipline here — you are always wait- 
ing at Blue liock — waiting for the rain ; waiting 
for the sun to set ; waiting for letters and news. 

* * * * * * 

“Mr. Fosbrey came in much disturbed last night. 
He had just heard that a friend of his, who owned 
a sheep station miles away, had been killed three 
months before — thrown from his horse while riding. 
His name was Clare, and it seems he married the 
sister of your friend. Professor Humphries. She 
died four years ago, and since then Barbara Clare, 
the eldest of her children, has brought up her baby 
sister and brother in XhQ pluchiest way. She was 
her father’s right hand. Before he died, Mr. Fos- 
brey learns, he made Barbara promise to take the 
little ones to their uncle in Kent. They have sailed 
in the care of the captain and a Doctor and Mrs. 
Moies. Mr. Fosbrey wishes he had known before, 
so that he could have arranged for us all to travel 
together. But he thought, as it was too late for 
that, you and godmother might like to know about 
your new neighbors. Barbara is a regular brick. 
They call her ‘the little mother.’ Poor girl just 


The Arrivals 


95 

think of it, Leonard — sixteen thousand miles away 
from home ! ” 

Leonard folded his letter hastily. AVas it possible 
that this was the girl of whom his friend Dija wrote. 

“ Pardon me,” he said, his bronzed face looking 
quite eager as he bent forward, “ but am I address- 
ing Miss Barbara Clare from Queensland ? ” 

A soft flush of pleased surprise brightened the 
sad, young face. 

“ I am Barbara Clare,” she said, quietly. 

“ Then permit me to introduce myself. I am an 
old friend of your uncle, the professor, and in a let- 
ter just received from my mother’s goddaughter, 
Dija Danvers, I have been charged to make myself 
of some use to you if possible. Have you ever 
heard of the Fosbreys of Blue Eock ? Dija went 
to them on a visit three years ago, soon after her 
mother’s second marriage.” 

Barbara’s face had lost its forlorn expression : 
while Leonard was speaking it brightened and 
gladdened. 

“The Fosbreys were friends of my father’s. 
Myrn Fosbrey stayed at our place for a night with 
his father soon after the arriv^al of his Cousin Betty 
and her friend Dija — they were traveling that way 
and put up at the station. AVhy, it sounds like 


96 A Maid of Mettle 

home to hear the familiar names ! And I feared 
there would be no one, not one we knew ! ’’ Her 
voice sounded quite eager. ‘‘ I remember that Myrn 
said that Dija was ‘ a capital fellow.’ He spoke of 
her as though she were a boy. ‘ A regular brick, 
without any “ flummeries,” never split on a chap 
behind his back, but would knock you down as lief 
as look at you.’ ” 

“ That was Dija,” said Leonard, reddening a little 
at the graphic description of his friend of three 
years ago. Then he laughed as though he enjoyed 
some memory. 

Barbara’s face, as she watched him, broke gradu- 
ally into smiles, which first began in her eyes. 
“ The brick of a girl ” seemed to be a favorite. 
Myrn’s account had been quite enthusiastic, although 
turbulent. She had known few girls, and had often 
wished they could meet ; she was curious and a lit- 
tle fearful to compare herself with girls who had 
lived in the city ; she felt that she must lack many 
of their graces. 

When they reached a station Leonard alighted, 
and in a quiet way made several arrangements for 
their comfort, buying some fruit for “ the kiddies,” 
as he called them. He took possession of them quite 
as a matter of course. 


The Arrivals 


97 


Dropping all personal or intimate allusions when 
the train went on again, he pointed out the features 
of the Kentish landscape, and while Barbara showed 
her interest, she was thanking him in her heart. 
How wonderfully this meeting had lifted the lone- 
liness that had weighed on the girl’s heart. The 
strain of her charge had brought an anxious line be- 
tween her brows. For five years she had been the 
little mother of her baby sister and brother, but in 
the shelter of her father’s home, with his compan- 
ionship, surrounded only by friends, the days had 
not been hard. The memory of her mother had 
been a tender thing. She had never seemed to go 
very far away, and “ mother would like it ” had 
been her guide through many a difiiculty. And for 
the big things her father had been there, till that 
dreadful day she could not think of very much as 
yet. 

It would have been impossible to speak of these 
things to Leonard Harper. It was nice of him to 
know. He had one of those faces that made you 
feel strong. This had just been the very worst bit 
to bear — ^there were friends on the ship to take re- 
sponsibility — but this going alone to meet the un- 
known and the stranger had chilled her courage. 

‘‘ Any luggage aboard ? ” asked Leonard, as he 


98 A Maid of Mettle 

lifted Elizabeth to the platform of the Deal Sta- 
tion. 

“ It’s all there,” answered Barbara apologetically. 
And so it proved, including a magnificent St. 
Bernard and a green Australian parrot. 

“ By Jove ! ” exclaimed Leonard, enthusiastically, 
“ he’s a beauty,” meaning the dog. 

“We couldn’t leave his Majesty behind.” 

“ I should think not.” The dog looked up with 
his grave eyes almost wistfully at his new friend. 
Both children hugged him ecstatically, and the par- 
rot, catching sight of him, shrieked with relief at a 
familiar object once more. “His Majesty, good 
dog, good dog ! ” Then, in a nervous, flurried way, 
began to whistle in perfect tune, “ There is no luck 
about the house.” 

Leonard Harper felt some amusement at his po- 
sition. There seemed no one to meet the arrivals, 
and he was, it seemed, in absolute charge of a young 
lady, two kiddies, half-a-dozen trunks, a St. Bernard 
and a parrot. 

Barbara was standing by the luggage quietly, but 
very pale. “ Ho one is here to meet us ? ” she half 
affirmed, half queried. 

“ It seems not, but now I think of it, the pro- 
fessor is not well — bad cold, I believe. Ah ! ” with a 


The Arrivals 


99 

tone of relief, “ he has sent. This man coming 
along is the gardener.” 

Leonard had begun to think the absent-minded 
student had forgotten all about the matter. 

The man approached and touched his hat. 

“ All right, Grimby. That’s the luggage : get it 
aboard. I’ll drive Miss Clare and the children. I 
see my cart out there.” 

Grimby was a tall, gray-bearded old man, with a 
fresh complexion and a dogged mouth. “ I doubt 
if there’s room,” he said. 

“ Eight,” said Leonard, disdaining argument, and 
before the astonished Grimby could collect his com- 
bative powers, by the aid of several porters and 
half-crowns, the six trunks were on board a van. 

The parrot Elizabeth had refused to part with. 

“ I do’ want my poor Polly to go ’way — my poor, 
poor Polly ! ” 

“ Myself will carry her,” said Jackie, and with 
Elizabeth holding by one hand, preceded by Jackie 
bearing the cage (from which Polly shrieked 
“ Tramps ! boil the billy quick ! tramps ! hi there. 
Majesty, fetch um ! ”) the master of Blackthorne 
walked coolly out of the station, followed by Bar- 
bara and the dog. 

With anj^a^.ojogy for delay, Leonard, who had 


lOO 


A Maid of Mettle 


some business to contract, drove through the quaint 
old town of Deal before making for Blackthorne. 
Its cozj picturesqueness attracted Barbara; there 
appeared but three principal streets, running 
parallel with and huddling to the sea-front, as 
though to get a peep of the wide expanse of the 
Channel and its ever-changing panorama of ships. 
Some of the houses which bulged on the narrow 
pavement were hundreds of years old, and had been 
inhabited by smugglers. But to-day these once 
lawless quarters were as quiet as the rest of the town. 

With a throb of memory Barbara was familiar 
with it instantly. This had been the home of her 
mother before she had married, and story after 
story recurred. Yes, here was the street with its 
row of boats drawn high and dry on the pebbly 
shore. And the boatmen, with their russet-brown 
and dark blue suits, mending their nets or leaning 
idly against the boats, their bronzed faces looking 
with quiet interest at the occupants of the trap. 
Every face lightened in recognition of the driver, 
and hats were touched respectfully. 

“ Good-day, sir ; fine day, sir.” 

The Downs were blue under the sunshine, and 
white sails of yachts gleamed far out on the water. 
A big steamer was ploughing her way to the 


The Arrivals 


101 


Thames, and smaller vessels were passing, some 
outward, some homeward bound. 

At sight of the boatmen and the ships Jack, who 
had sat in contemplative silence absorbing his new 
impressions of the world, grew excited and called 
out to the sturdy sailors “ Hallo, mate ! Hallo, cap- 
tain ! ” waving his hat with entiiusiasm. “ Look 
at the ships ! Five, ten, twenty, more than a hun- 
dred ! ” 

“ More zan a hundred ! ” piped Elizabeth. 

After this outburst Jack subsided as suddenly as 
he had roused. 

“ When I go to heaven,” he remarked presently 
to Elizabeth, “ myself will have a boat. An’ I will 
row father. An’ when you die, Lizzie-Bess, you 
shall come for a row along with me.” 

“ 1^0 ! ” answered Elizabeth tartly, for she hated 
the water. “I do’ want to go to ’even an’ be 
rowded in a boat. I wants me dinner. O, I do’s. 
I wants me dinner ! ” 

Barbara, who had been lost in dreams, roused 
instantly. For the last quarter of an hour she had 
been imagining herself in her mother’s place. 

Leonard had respected her silence. He noted 
how the baby-girl’s cry transformed her from a 
dreaming silent girl to a woman. 


102 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Dearie I ” she murmured, turning to lift the lit- 
tle child. “ So you shall have your dinner. Yery 
soon we shall be at home.” 

Instantly Leonard Harper turned the pony’s head. 

At home ? 

The words troubled him. “ Poor kids,” he 
thought. The amusement of his position Avas 
changing to concern. He knew the professor to be 
an absent-minded student, alive to any dead scholar, 
but dead to living humanity. He had heard his 
mother speak of the mother of these children, Avho 
had lived with her silent brother for a feAv years, 
and then, to the grief of the poor, had married and 
gone away. Odds and ends of old tales recurred 
to him, and he got an impression which troubled 
him, that ‘‘ the kiddies ” would find themselves un- 
welcome. 

The quiet girl beside him, with her reserve and 
prim little manners, appealed to him. His mother, 
a gentlewoman of the old school, dignified, dainty 
in her ways, sweet in her thoughts, simple in her 
faith, made this girl understandable to him. She 
was “ behind the times ” in smartness perhaps, but 
she was up to any date in womanliness. It hurt 
him to feel that she had never been a real girl, ir- 
responsible, able to lean upon others. 


The Arrivals 


103 


In a few minutes they had left the cozy town be- 
hind, and passing a picturesque old castle, turned 
into the suburbs. They entered a secluded street, 
lane-like in its rusticity, in which two houses stood 
divided by high hedges and wild-looking gardens. 
At the house furthest down the lane, Leonard drew 
rein. 

“ This is Grey stone Lodge,’’ he said, and wished 
it did not look so gloomy. 

As they drove through the gateway, Barbara saw 
a dreary, neglected-looking house of stone, that 
Nature had taken in hand long since, and beautified 
with ivy and vine, which clambered to the chimney- 
pots. 

She turned a questioning look upon Leonard. 

“ The Lodge,” he said, wishing the old place had 
looked more cheerful, and that some one had been 
at the door. Barbara’s throat tightened, her heart 
began to thump heavily, and in a little nervous 
flurry she turned to the children, and setting their 
hats straight, shook them out generally for presen- 
tation. 

In answer to Leonard’s ring there was quite a 
wait before the door opened, and Leonard felt 
almost as anxious for the reception of the children 
as did Barbara. Elizabeth had possessed herself of 


104 ^ Maid of Mettle 

Polly’s cage, and was telling her pet ‘ not to be 
frighted, she should have her dinner,’ when the 
door was opened by a middle-aged woman, square 
of shoulders, and grim of face. 

“ Mrs. Grimby, here we are ! ” said Leonard, with 
breezy cheerfulness. “ This is Miss Clare, and the 
little ones — is your master at home ? ” 

“ In the study, sir — not to be disturbed, sir.” 

Which seemed very unlikely, for Polly, who had 
antipathies at first sight of Mrs. Grimby — whose 
eyes were as hard and bright as the parrot’s — called 
out : “ Hi, Majesty — seize her. Tramps ! ” and 

then shrieked shrilly with terror or temper. 

Mrs. Grimby snorted. This invasion of her hall 
— she called it hers — was evidently not to her taste. 
The luggage had arrived, and the boxes were ar- 
ranged in an intrusive row. His Majesty pushed 
past, and stood on guard beside the children, his 
eyes upon the protesting face of the woman. 
Elizabeth trailed a may branch on the polished 
floor, scattering the petals. In the awkward mo- 
ment of silence Jack made the announcement : 

“ We’ve come.” 

The woman made no answer, but her expression 
was anything but a welcome. 

“ I must be off now,” said Leonard. “ The 


The Arrivals 


105 

mother will be sure to look you up to-morrow. 
Good-bye, Miss Clare. Tat-ta, kiddies.” 

Barbara held out her hand. “ You have been 
most kind, Mr. Harper. We should have been mis- 
erable without you.” 

“Tm miserable now,” said Jack. ‘‘I don’t want 
you to go — I’ll come with you ! ” he added, bright- 
ening. “ I don’t like it here,” he continued to Mrs. 
Grimby. “ I’ll go with Leonard. He likes me.” 

Barbara’s eyes met those of Leonard. 

It is your own fault,” she said. “ You have 
spoilt them all the morning. Jackie, you cannot 
go with Mr. Harper. 'And it is extremely rude of 
you to call a gentleman by his Christian name.” 

It’s extremely rude of mo to call you by your 
Christian name, Leonard. I ’pologize, very much,” 
said Jack, politely. “I say, won’t you stay to 
dinner ? ” 

‘‘Won’t you ’top to dinner?” echoed Elizabeth, 
sweetly, “ I sail ’top to dinner ! ” 

As Leonard ran down the steps laughing, he 
heard Polly shrieking : 

“A bone! a bone ; a bone ! ” 

“If you follow me I’ll show you the nursery, 
miss,” said the woman, in a tone of exhausted 
patience, “ and if you please, little miss, not to trail 


io6 


A Maid of Mettle 


the rubbish up the stairs,” she added to Elizabeth, 
“ things won’t get so mussed.” 

But when she attempted to take the faded may- 
branch Elizabeth opened her mouth and roared. 
His Majesty gave a warning bark. 

“ Go ’long, woman, I shall have my dee flower I ” 

“She must have her dear flower. She’s only 
five. She’s little Lizzie-Bess,” affirmed Jack, pro- 
tectingly, two big tears welling to his eyes at sight 
of his sister’s tears. His heart was vaguely 
troubled ; he felt, though he could not understand, 
the hostility of the woman. 

“ Put the may down instantly, and come quietly 
up-stairs,” commanded Barbara. 

“We’ll do it,” explained Jack, “but Ave don’t 
Avant to.” 

“ I doubt if they knoAV the meaning of quiet,” 
sighed Mrs. Grimby. “Their clatter Avill come 
hard on the master — he’s not as young as he Avas.” 

“O,” said Jack, “aint he?” — then called out 
cheerily to Elizabeth: “We’ll play race-horses on 
the stairs, Lizzie-Bess, and I’ll slide doAvn the ban- 
isters for you, dearie. Don’t you cry.” 

“I mus’,” piped Elizabeth, from the top stair, 
throAAnng a dry-eyed glance over her shoulder, “my 
poor little self mus’ cry.” 


The Arrivals 


107 

The nursery was at the top of the house ; a large 
attic room, running from east to west, with a win- 
dow at each end. It had evidently been chosen for 
its remoteness from the rest of the house, and 
furnished with a miscellaneous assortment of furni- 
ture that had been consigned there when the attic 
was a lumber-room. A square of shabby carpet 
covered the centre of the floor, leaving a broad 
border of well-scrubbed boards. In one corner of 
the room stood a bookcase empty of books. A 
broad box-sofa was jammed against one wall. Fac- 
ing it was a rather handsome mahogany sideboard, 
for which evidently there was no use in any other 
room in the house. A cottage piano occupied an- 
other corner of the flreplace. Two handsome blue 
china jars stood obtrusively alone on the narrow 
mantelshelf ; a large, solid, unvarnished table, half 
a dozen chairs (no two of which were alike), and a 
huge leather chair at the hearth summed up the 
contents of the room with the exception of an oak 
music chest and music stool. 

The effect was dreary. The uncurtained windows 
stared like two bold eyes, and let in a glare of light 
which showed up every defect. 

On the opposite side of the landing were two 
smaller rooms, bedrooms, also a bathroom. Large 


io8 


A Maid of Mettle 


linen cupboards lined the broad landing. A win- 
dow faced the south, built low, with an old-fash- 
ioned window seat, and Barbara, with an exclama- 
tion of pleasure, anticipated many delightful hours 
here, for the view was glorious. The Isle of 
Thanet, with spreading downs, reached far as the 
eye could travel. 

After the colorless landscape of the Australian 
summer, the fresh green English fields, the varied 
tints of the foliage were enchanting. 

“ How beautiful ! ” the girl exclaimed softly. 

The woman’s face lost some of its glumness, she 
had anticipated airs and graces from a consequential 
young miss from “ foreign parts.” Instead, the hu- 
mility and gentleness of Barbara touched her. 

“ I thought you might like it better up top here, 
miss. More to yourselves like,” she explained. 

“Thank you — yes,” replied Barbara, gratefully. 
“I am sure you have taken a great deal of trouble. 
The difficulty will be keeping the children here. 
They had the freedom of the whole house, at home, 
and as far as their feet could carry them, they were 
not trespassers. They will understand in time. I 
hope they will not worry you.” 

Mrs. Grimby could not say they would not, for 
she Avas quite sure that they would. They had wor- 


The Arrivals 


109 


ried her very much already. Since she had learned 
three young people were expected as permanent 
guests, she declared to Mr. Grimby, that she “ hadn’t 
slept a wink ” ; doubtless she had slept without a 
Avink, as that Avas three months ago. 

From her point of view^ it Avas very hard that, 
after tAventy years of peace and quiet in service at 
the Lodge, ‘‘ a young miss an’ tAvo brats,” as she in- 
elegantly summed up the situation, should come to 
disturb her, and share her rule. This she did not 
add. But the dreamy book-worm she called “Mas- 
ter,” was completely in her hands. He had no voice 
in the ordering of his oAvn establishment — it 
Avas ordered for him; conscientiously but with 
rigor. 

She did not intend to be coaxed into softness, so 
Avith the remark that she Avould bring up the lunch, 
she departed, leaving Barbara still standing at the 
AvindoAV feasting her eyes on the Avide expanse of 
sunlit country. A church Avas visible among the 
trees, gray Avith age ; glimpses of old tombstones 
shoAved through the trees. 

By the time hands and faces had been Avashed, 
and hair brushed, Mrs. Grimby brought up the 
tray. 

It contained a meat pie, and dish of potatoes, 


1 lO 


A Maid of Mettle 


some baked apples and cream, and a jug of milk. 
She put the dessert upon the sideboard. 

“ Perhaps you wouldn’t mind changing the plates, 
miss, when you’re ready ? it’s a bit of journey up- 
stairs.” 

Barbara flushed sensitively. The woman’s man- 
ner was quite respectful, but her tone left no doubt 
that she considered the extra labor a hardship. 

“ Couldn’t we have meals nearer to the kitchen, 
and so save you the trouble of carrying them up ? ” 

“No,” answered Mrs. Grimby, shortly. “The 
master never eats in the middle of the day ; a glass 
of milk and a biscuit is his lunch.” 

“We eat,” Jack informed her from his seat at the 
table. “ Myself has got an appetite. It goes into 
the grow of me when I eat. Father said I should 
be as large as him when I’d swallowed enough 
sheep.” 

This reference to their father took Barbara’s ap- 
petite away. All at once she saw the cheerful 
sunny dining-room, and her father facing her at ta- 
ble ; the merry talk recurred, his care of her, his 
fond greeting, “Well, little mother, how are the 
babies ? ” She could not recall a meal at which 
they had been separated, unless he was away from 
home. A sob rose in her throat, which she tried to 


The Arrivals 


111 


repress. If this grudging welcome was the only 
welcome they were to receive, how could she live 
through the long years till Jackie and Lizzie-Bess 
were grown up, and she should be free ? But they 
were asking for baked apples. She fed them, and 
tried to feel that duty was the finest thing in life. 
But her head ached ; she was all at once tired and 
dispirited, and when the children, after the table 
had been cleared, set up a wild romp, a thing oc- 
curred which never had happened to them before ; 
Barbara shook them one after the other. ‘‘ Will 
you keep quiet ; don’t you Tcnow that you are not 
to make a noise ? ” 

The two small faces paled. Four large fright- 
ened eyes stared at an angry Barbara in deep, re- 
proachful astonishment. But Barbara’s eyes were 
dim ; she did not see. Instead, her head sank into 
her hands, and the stified sob tore itself free. 

Barbara was crying. It was a terrible thing. 
Tiptoeing very softly, the little brother and sister 
crept hand-in-hand under the table, and hid their 
guilty selves behind the cloth which Mrs. Grimby 
had thrown over it. Shut in from the rest of the 
world — a world which seemed to have tumbled into 
ruins about them — they locked their arms about 
each other, and rocked backward and forward in 


112 


A Maid of Mettle 


equal misery. At length they took courage to peer 
from beneath the cloth. Barbara was sitting in the 
big armchair by the hearth, her head resting against 
the shabby leather. She looked pale and sad. With 
speechless woe they again clasped each other tightly, 
and rocked as before. His Majesty w'as asleep at 
Barbara’s feet ; Folly was asleep upon her perch. 
It was awesomely still. 

A knock at the door startled them. It was a dis- 
tinct relief to hear Barbara say, “ Come in ! ” 

“The professor would like to see you, miss. 
Shall I show you to the study ? ” 

Barbara rose hastily. 

“ In five minutes. I’ll be in the hall in five min- 
utes, Mrs. Grimby. Don’t wait, please.” 

The door closed. A moment later it opened and 
closed again. 

“ Barbara’s gone,” whispered Elizabeth. 


CHAPTER YI 


“it’s us” 

Keith Humphries, professor, was reputed a 
learned man. He had lived so long with his books 
that live humanity had grown strange to him. The 
dead ages were much more real to his mind than 
the living present. 

Once, long ago, he had been human in affection. 
There had been one who, as woman and girl, had 
charmed him from his studies — his young sister. 
She had come to him on the death of their parents, 
so much younger than he that she had seemed like 
a child ; a child that, in his estimation, would grow 
slowly to womanhood ; develop slowly, and spend 
long years by his side. Then, one day, he realized 
that while he had been dreaming she had been liv- 
ing and loving — and had left him. 

The silence and loneliness that settled upon the 
Lodge had appalled him. By the omission of her 
duties and gracious acts the professor first realized 
how many deeds of thought and goodness she had 
performed. 


113 


114 


A Maid of Mettle 


Then, with an ache at his heart to which he gave 
no voice, the professor went back to his books, and 
in time forgot that he had ever listened for a light 
footstep and cheerful voice. 

He had been startled into remembrance by the 
communication that his sister was dead, and that 
her children were coming to him. This was the 
day — the hour. Dr. Moies had communicated their 
safe arrival, and that he would see them started for 
Kent. Grim by had been sent to meet the train, he 
himself not daring in his weak state of health to 
face the rigors of the east wind. 

The disturbance of the arrival had penetrated to 
the sacred quiet of the study, and had awakened 
the professor to the fact that henceforward its iso- 
lated peace was liable to invasion. He might no 
longer forget days and weeks as they passed, or 
mark them chiefly by some dead fact that mattered 
little in the old-world town. Since Mrs. Grimby’s 
curt announcement, “They’re here, sir!” Keith 
Humphries had found it impossible to concentrate 
himself on his books. The barking of a dog, the 
shrill voice of a child, the gentler tones of a girl, 
had come between him and his books, and roused 
dim, vague remembrances, half sweet, half sad, 
which pushed their way through the crust of self 


“It’s Us” 115 

from the tomb of silence which had held him so 
long. 

In nervous apprehension he walked to and fro in 
his study, dreading yet partly longing for a sight of 
the girl whose voice had appealed to him from other 
years. 

“ Miss Clare, sir.” 

Mrs. Grimby’s announcement startled him, al- 
though he had been waiting for it. The woman 
jerked out the words as though they hurt her, and 
closed the door with a sharp snap, which told 
plainly as words how disagreeable her task was. 

In the firelight of the room the professor saw a 
slight form standing against the background of the 
closed door. A pale face crowned by a wealth of 
golden hair was turned to him, pathetic in its en- 
treaty. An indescribable sensation made the pro- 
fessor’s heart leap. In the half light the small oval 
face seemed more than a likeness to that other face 
which had brightened his home seventeen years 
ago. 

“ So you are the ‘ Little Mother ’ ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The tall, gray-headed gentleman came forward 
slowly and feebly to greet the trembling girl, and 
taking her by the hand led her to the hearth and 


ii6 A Maid of Mettle 

the light of the fire. His scrutiny was long, but 
Barbara submitted quietly. The sunken gray eyes 
of the man rested on the frank blue eyes of the 
girl uplifted to his with wistful hope. 

At last he stooped and kissed her. 

“ Welcome, little daughter of my little sister. It 
seems like yesterday that she went away with her 
husband to Australia. How both are dead — and 
you are the mother of the babies ! ” 

There was a sad, refiective look on the grave 
face as though he were trying to realize the present, 
and fit it to the past. His manner was courteous, 
but absent-minded. “ He looks as though he had 
just been roused from a long sleep,” thought Bar- 
bara. And so he had ; and like one half-awake his 
words were slow. He passed his hand softly over 
the bright hair again and again, and in the gentle 
touch Barbara remembered her mother. 

“ How did you bring the babies sixteen thousand 
miles, child ? ” 

His brow wrinkled in anxiety. It struck him at 
this moment as a stupendous thing which this girl- 
woman had done. She must be very tired. 

‘‘ Sit down, my dear,” he said, and drew a great 
leather chair to the hearth. If she had carried the 
children all the way he could not have been more 


“It’s Us” 117 

solicitous. He looked round the room in a worried 
way as though in search for something with which 
to revive her, but not seeing anything, and by force 
of long habit abstaining from anything that gave 
trouble to any one, he fell back upon conversation. 

“ The babies are in bed, of course ? ” 

Barbara half laughing, half crying, anxious that 
her recent tears should not be detected, shook her 
head. 

“ Oh no,” she said, and choked, remembering the 
sudden extinction of her charges, and their demure 
retirement under the table. “ They are not babies 
really. Jackie is six, and Elizabeth is five years 
old. Children of that age do not go to bed at four 
in the afternoon.” 

“ Do they not, indeed ? No, of course not,” re- 
plied the professor, trying to recall his own experi- 
ence. He loved to be correct. The origin and 
growth of his neighborhood had cost him years of 
research. From the landing of Julius Caesar on the 
shores of Kent, to the latest events of the century, 
the legends, chronology, traditions, and archaeology 
of the ancient towns of the coast he had at his 
finger-tips, but whether children of five and six 
went to bed at four in the afternoon or at sun- 
down he had forgotten. Blessed silence had fol- 


ii8 


A Maid of Mettle 


lowed the bustle of several hours ago, and he sup- 
posed sleep was to be thanked. 

Barbara thought him very ignorant of the ways 
of children. Her mother had told her that “ Uncle 
Keith” was clever, but had no comprehension of 
domestic ways. She looked at him almost as 
searchingly as he had looked at her. “ I don’t be- 
lieve,” she thought, “ that he has anybody really to 
look after him ; he is thin and ill.” Her thought 
flew to the kitchen. How she would like to make 
for him a few invalid dishes, of which she knew. 
But how far removed the professor appeared from 
culinary matters ! She remembered his house- 
keeper’s remark, “ He never eats in the middle of 
the day.” He looked as though he ate very little 
at any time. His refined face, the stooping shoul- 
ders, the something in his manner which had al- 
most the hesitancy of timidity, banished Barbara’s 
fear. The dread had haunted her of a morose 
scholar, who would despise the ignorance of girls 
— especially bush girls. He looked almost as much 
afraid of her as she had been of him ! A new thought, 
full of hope, occurred to her : suppose she could do 
something of which he had need ? He was too far 
removed from her in his wonderful world of science 


“It’s Us” • 119 

to need affection, but a little careful nursing might 
be of service. 

And while the professor was trying to put into 
words his hope that the children had — as his house- 
keeper assured him they had — found everything for 
their comfort, Barbara, her eyes turned wistfully 
upon him, placed the situation in a new light, and 
herself in a new position — as prospective protect- 
ress of himself. 

“ I am sorry you are ill. I hope, if I may, sir, to 
be a comfort to you. Mother said I was a good 
nurse.” 

“1:^0, no, certainly not — not by any means, 
child ! ” he interrupted. 

Barbara’s lips quivered : she clasped her hands 
with a little gesture of despair, and turned her eyes 
to the fire. The professor knew the gesture and 
attitude so well. It seemed but yesterday that 
Barbara’s mother had sat there, with trembling 
lips, when he had opposed her. He was extremely 
anxious ; was she going to cry ? What should he 
do if she cried ? His words had hurt her somehow. 
He had not meant to thrust her away. But, unac- 
customed as he was to the ministering of women, 
it appeared unpardonable to permit a young gentle- 
woman to serve him ; that he could not allow. 


120 A Maid of Mettle 

And also the intrusion of a nurse would be fatal to 
his quiet. 

No, the girl was not going to cry. She turned 
her face to him presently, slightly flushed in the 
firelight, and, with a little air of pride that suited 
her, and gave her manner the weight of older years, 
related the whole circumstance of her father’s 
death, and delivered, without exaggeration or cur- 
tailment, every detail committed to her for com- 
munication to her uncle. 

He listened gravely and with great courtesy, 
only interrupting to ask some question to the point 
which would throw a fuller light upon anything 
necessary for him to know. 

It was difficult for Barbara to talk of the past ; 
difficult to put away the pain of isolation which 
she suffered ; but not by a word did she appeal for 
the sympathy for which she hungered. Once or 
twice, suspecting that if she proceeded her voice 
would betray her, she paused, and in every pause 
her uncle said : 

“I understand!” in a tone which signified 
that she had made her statements perfectly 
clear. 

Indeed, as Barbara proceeded, the professor saw 
for the first time the home and life of his dead 


“ It’s Us 


121 


sister : it lived to him in the precise word-picture 
set before him. It had hitherto been unrealized by 
him. His sister had gone out of his home into a 
dream existence, so far as he was concerned. She 
had taken something away with her that had left a 
blank — till his books filled it. But, although not 
living to him, she had been living. And a keen, 
full life it seemed. For the first time, as the recital 
came to an end, Keith Humphries grasped the fact 
that his sister was actually dead — not existing some- 
where in his world of dreams. 

He got up, and, with his arms folded behind his 
back, walked slowly up and down. 

The study was a large room, handsomely fur- 
nished in oak, but the carpet and curtains were 
faded. There was a mellow look of age about 
everything, which appealed to an inherited instinct 
of Barbara’s almost as strongly as to Keith Hum- 
phries himself. Where the walls were not covered 
by books, the spaces were filled with cases contain- 
ing specimens of minerals and woods; a rare 
collection of butterflies filled one huge case over 
the fireplace. Moorish vases, brackets, and brass 
trays were scattered about without any attempt at 
order or arrangement. A skull grinned from a 
bracket and on every table were heaps of books 


122 


A Maid of Mettle 


and manuscripts. Barbara felt as though she had 
strayed into a small museum. 

After a careful survey of intense satisfaction, her 
eyes came round to the professor. He was keenly 
watching her. 

Barbara sighed and smiled. 

“ How beautifully old,’’ she said. 

He smiled, too, and came forward eagerly, im- 
mensely pleased. With almost the enthusiasm of 
a boy he showed her some exquisite carving, an 
ancient Koman urn, and a few rare pieces of china. 
He had a genuinely interested listener. 

He felt a compunction that there had been some- 
thing lacking in his attitude towards the girl. 

Barbara felt his hand on her head. She looked 
up. “ She had forgotten me ? Yes, of course ! ” 

“Mother ? Oh, no. She talked of you fre- 

quently — she showed me all that I have seen to- 
day, and made it all familiar to me. It seems like 

” “ coming home,” she had almost said, but 

checked herself. “ It seems as though I had been 
here before.” 

“You are the young mistress in her place, child,” 
and while he said it an apprehensive vision of Mrs. 
Grimby crossed his mind. 

“I can never be like mother,” she answered 


gently. “She was always wise — she always 
knew I ” 

There was profound sadness in the speech that the 
professor found incomprehensible. To his recollec- 
tion his sister had appeared anything but wise. 

‘‘Always knew f ” he asked shortly, puzzled. 
He had studied all his life; no affection had 
tempted him from the inexhaustible stores of 
learning — yet he had small knowledge he thought, 
with a tired sigh. Without research how could 
any one know anything ? 

“ She was wonderful,” affirmed Barbara. “ She 
knew just the right thing to do and the right word 
to say. If you were false in any thought she faced 
you with the truth. ‘Fact is always there — find 
it.’ ” 

The professor had not credited Barbara’s mother 
with such a scientific mind. Her search had seemed 
to him for violets and smiles. He had forgotten 
that violets and the sunshine were facts as great as 
the discovery of a Koman urn. 

“ I think girls romance more than boys,” said the 
girl who had been trained to “ face fact,” and 
whose experience had so early given her sad reality 
to meet. She looked at the gray-headed gentleman 
for corroboration. He was very learned and knew, 


124 


A Maid of Mettle 


of course. She spoke with the freedom of one who 
had habitually conversed with her elders, and had 
been encouraged to express her passing thoughts ; 
but the professor was much embarrassed. He was 
not an authority on a girl’s emotions. 

Barbara nodded wisely. 

“You see a girl wants things to be beautiful 
more than to be true, and when facts are not inter- 
esting, or — or people, she fancies all sorts of things 
about them. ‘ Weaving spells ’ father called it.” 

“A grave error,” the professor replied. Then 
the door opened. 

“ The nursery tea, if you please, miss.” 

Meanwhile, Jack and Elizabeth, left in desolate 
grief under the nursery table, felt, when the door 
closed behind Barbara, that they were stranded on 
a desert shore. 

Boys of six should not cry if possible, and Jack 
was seldom guilty of the indignity; so he closed 
his arms around Elizabeth, and by holdino- her 
tightly, and blinking hard, averted the shame of a 
breakdown, fully conscious that should he allow the 
tears to fall down his sister’s back, when the hour 
of her tribulation had passed, she would remind 
him of the fact. 

But Elizabeth herself fully indulged in the 


“ It’s Us 


125 


feminine prerogative of tears, and made her mascu- 
line companion’s self-control so difidcult to main- 
tain that “Myself feels a choke in my throat, 
Lizzie-Bess,” he said huskily, as he gently let 
her go. 

They felt utterly cast out, cut adrift from security 
and happiness; like two small dogs deserted by 
their master, one whined and the other shivered. 
With the unreasoning fear of those too young for 
understanding, they were not at all sure what 
might happen to Barbara. Perhaps she was so 
angry with them she might leave them for al- 
ways. 

Jack sat with his fat legs stretched out before 
him, his eyes staring into vacancy, a fat hand rest- 
ing helplessly on each knee ; Elizabeth was curled 
up into a ball, crying quietly. Jack knew it was 
real crying, because when it wasn’t she made a 
noise. He could shoot tigers and lions, supposing 
he had a gun — of that he was sure, but nothing on 
the earth, or in the waters under the earth, was so 
discomforting as that low weeping from the little 
bundle on the floor. 

“ Leave off crying, Lizzie-Bess,” he remonstrated. 
“I’m ’shamed of you. Barbara wishes us to be 
good children.” 


126 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Barbara’s — gone — down the stairs,” choked 
Elizabeth. “ I do’ want to be good. I do’ want to 
leave off crying.” 

“ Little girls in England is good,” declared Jack 
loyally. 

“ I do’ like England. I do’ like anyfink — I want 
ze little muzzer,” responded the small rebel in a 
shrill treble Avhich testified to the fact that the free 
expression of her feelings was doing her good. 
“ O — o I doz O — o ” 

“ Hark ! ” said Jack in a low, impressive tone 
“ AVliat's that ? ” 

Elizabeth immediately sat up, curiosity getting 
the better of her woe. 

There were certainly strange sounds of muffled 
feet and bumping on the stairs. Majesty lifted his 
head and listened. 

“ Don’t you be frightened, Lizzie-Bess,” whispered 
Jackie ; “ I’ll take care of you.” 

“I’ll take care of me-shelf,” responded she un- 
gratefully, at the same time drawing nearer to her 
would-be defender. 

There was a noise outside the door, which pres- 
ently opened, and disclosed nothing more dreadful 
than Mr. Grimby with a box on his shoulder. De- 
positing this on the floor Avith a bump, he departed 


and presently returned with another one, the handle 
of which Mrs. Griinby held. 

“ I wonder where them brats are ? she said 
gruffly. 

They were flat on their stomachs, watching opera- 
tions from under the table. Instinctively scenting 
enmity they withdrew their inquiring glances from 
the crack of the tablecloth. If their hiding-place 
was discovered, it was impossible to guess what the 
cross old woman might do. 

But Polly, being awakened from her afternoon 
nap, became abusive. 

“ Hi there ! Tramps ! Tramps, Majesty — seize 
um ! ” 

“ ril let you know who’s tramps,” answered 
Mrs. Grimby, “ if you don’t keep a civil tongue in 
your mouth.” 

“ Beak ! ” interjected Mr. Grimby laconically. 

“Beak, then. I’ll wring your neck as soon as 
look at you ! ” 

“What’s the use of jawing a parrot. It don’t 
know what you mean,” said Mr. Grimby. 

“ Oh, don’t it ? There’s more in a parrot than 
meets the eye,” retorted Mrs. Grimby ; “an’ I’ll be 
treated with respect or I’ll know what’s what.” 

She slammed the door behind her, and silence 


128 A Maid of Mettle 

deep and gray settled upon the nursery under the 
eaves. 

At length Jack remarked decisively : 

“We must treat her with respect. If we don’t 
she’ll know what’s what. Barbara will tell us what 
‘ what ’ is.” 

“It’s what,” responded Elizabeth tartly, “of 
course.” 

“ O,” said Jack, very roundly, too polite to pro- 
test, yet not quite clear. He pondered the matter 
further, then remarked, after quite a long interval, 
“ It’s English bad manners.” 

Another silence ensued, then he ejaculated, 

“ There’s more in Polly than meets the eye.” 

This subject was not further investigated just 
then, as the door opened once more and the tinkle 
of china was heard. A heavy tray was deposited 
with a thud on the roof of their hiding-place. 
Mrs. Grimby was setting the table for tea. Four 
blue eyes peered cautiously from beneath the cloth, 
but the view was limited to a pair of strong boots 
and robust ankles. After what seemed an inter- 
minable time they disappeared down the staircase. 

“ Myself is cold,” said Jack, and came out from 
beneath the table. He surveyed the contents of 
the table, but made no onslaught. Barbara’s rules 


“ It’s Us 


129 


were gentle but firm. If it had been permitted, 
just one slice of cake would have cheered Lizzie- 
Bess. But young gentlemen and ladies must not 
be greedy. Majesty wagged his tail expectantly, 
and Polly began a restless dance upon the perch. 

“ Hi there — a bone ! ” she screeched ; but getting 
no response, broke out in doleful whistling, “ There 
is no luck about the house.” 

Half an hour passed ; still no Barbara, and the 
children, discussing the subject in their own dis- 
jointed way, decided that they would go in search 
of Barbara. 

‘‘0 1 do’ like England ! I want ze little muzzer,” 
began the plaintive wail. England stood to Eliza- 
beth for loneliness and general absence of all things 
familiar and comforting. Hever had Barbara de- 
serted them before. 

Jack cautiously opened the door, and peered 
down over the bannisters. A delicious scent of 
cookery was wafted to his inquisitive nose, but no 
sound or sight of human being was to be heard or 
seen. 

“ Keep behind me,” whispered Jack. “ She’ll use 
bad manners if she sees us,” he explained, referring 
to Mrs. Grimby. “ I’ll take care of you. Boys are 
never frightened. It’s cowardly to be frightened.” 


130 


A Maid of Mettle 


A door banged, and they bolted back to the 
nursery door. JSTothing else happened. 

“You shouldn’t do that, Lizzie-Bess,” remon- 
strated Jack. “ It gives me the heart jump.” 

Taking the precaution to shut his Majesty in 
the nursery, lest his presence should betray them, 
they slowly descended the stairs, Lizzie-Bess hold- 
ing tightly to Jackie’s hand. Each step carried 
them further from security above and nearer the 
unknown below. 

At length the hall was reached. AYith ludicrous 
efforts at silence which called for much muscular 
exertion — extending even to the face — with bodies 
bent, mouths and eyes screwed up, they reached an 
old, green baize door thickly studded with brass 
nails. It took some force to push this open. It 
swung to after them with a dull thud, and they 
found themselves in a dim passage, at the end of 
which was another heavy door standing partly 
ajar. This led to a flight of stone steps, down 
which, hand-in-hand, the two explorers descended, 
forgetful of their quest of Barbara, and their fear 
of Mrs. Grimby, wholly taken up with the novelty 
of their position and the delightful sense of dis- 
covery. 

In their Australian home there had been neither 


“ It’s Us 


vault nor cellar, so with all the courage of igno- 
rance they defied any element of darkness or 
danger. So far all was well; they landed in a 
walled-in, cobbled yard. In the wall were two 
heavy weather-beaten doors : one yielded, and dis- 
closed a dim passage similar to the one they had 
traversed. A little uncertain of their ground they 
hesitated just within the door, which, swinging back 
on its hinges, fastened with a snap, shutting them 
off from light and liberty. Jackie’s heart stood 
still, then thumped heavily. 

“ I want to go out of ze dark,” said Elizabeth. 
So did Jackie — but how ? 

“We haven’t got a key,” he affirmed, after feel- 
ing the surface of the door for knob or latch. 

Then four small fists beat a lively tattoo on the 
panels, interspersed with calls for deliverance. But 
deliverance did not come. 

“I’ll take care of you,” declared Jackie, with a 
catch in his voice, not at all knowing how it was to 
be done ; but at any cost Elizabeth must be reas- 
sured. 

“ There should have been a key,” he declared. 
That point was certain — doors without keys were 
defective. 

The passage was chilly as well as dark, and Eliza- 


A Maid of Mettle 


132 

beth’s teeth began to chatter, partly with the cold 
and partly with fear. In all their little lives the 
children had never felt fear before and scarcely 
recognized the nature of their sensations. 

“ I want my tea, I does,” whimpered Elizabeth. 

“ Myself is sick with the miserable,” said Jack. 

So was Elizabeth. But Jackie was six. He was 
a large boy. He had never yet failed her in any 
emergency ; he would not fail her now. She was 
very uncomfortable but not hopeless. 

Upon both the darkness and chill worked its 
strange spell. They were cut off from all the 
world : isolated from light and love. Even Mrs. 
Grimby and the nursery in the roof were heaven 
by comparison. They had fled, like many older 
folk, from the ills they knew to ills they did not 
know, and from which there was, apparently, no 
escape. 

“ There ought to be a key,” reiterated Jackie, 
harking back to his grievance. “ In all our doors 
there were keys. Myself, when I am a man and 
build a house, will always have keys.” 

“Make a fuss of me,” pleaded Elizabeth. By 
which she meant caress her. She had great need 
of comforting. All the gentlest and sweetest of 
any circumstance were given to the “ small one,” as 


“It’s Us” 133 

her father had called her. This was an occasion on 
which Jackie could not deny her. There were oc- 
casions when honor and right pointed to chastise- 
ment of Elizabeth. But this was not one of them. 
Jackie was chivalrous aud just. He had tempted 
Lizzie-Bess from security and light ; he must rescue 
and comfort her. 

He threw his arms about her and hugged her, 
and made as much “ fuss ” over her as any exacting 
feminine heart could desire. 

“How,” said Jackie, this duty done, “you hold 
my hand, and myself will feel along the wall and 
take you — somewhere,” he concluded, indefinitely. 

“ Somewhere ” was not very visible, and at the 
heart of the little lad a vague dread arose that 
there was no anywhere any more for either of 
them: never Barbara, never anything warm and 
bright and comfortable. 

“ I do’ like England,” whimpered Elizabeth. 
And at that moment Jackie thought it the worst 
managed country in the world. He had heard of 
its power and greatness and glory — and the doors 
had no keys ! And small children taking an 
innocent ramble just to see what sort of house 
they lived in, got shut in a trap like mice ! 

Jackie liked a country that had light and surface 


134 


A Maid of Mettle 


to it, where boys could wander at will, where tus- 
socks waved in the sunshine, and for miles and 
miles there was not even a gate, where if men got 
lost it was in the bush — not in passages. 

“ Coo-ee,” he called, giving the Australian cry by 
instinct. 

But there was no answer, save the echo of his 
own trembling voice. They groped along a step or 
two, then Jackie pulled his sister up quickly. 

“ Hark ! what’s that ? ” 

They clutched each other tightly. There was a 
dull rumbling like distant thunder, either from be- 
hind the wall or under their feet. Dull at first, but 
momentarily coming nearer, it seemed to pass them 
by with a rush. If they had ever been in a coal 
mine they would have compared the noise to the 
rumble of the coal trucks on the rails, but they had 
no experience of coal mines. 

“It’s an earthquake,” said Jack, who fancied he 
recognized the rumbling, “ or it might be an ogre 
seekin’ whom he may devour.” 

“ I do’ want to be devourded,” whined Elizabeth. 
“ I want me tea.” 

Again the rumbling startled them to silence, then 
the darkness was illuminated at the end of the pas- 
sage by a yellow ray of light, from which shafts 


“ It’s Us 


ti 


135 


pierced the dimness and flickered over the stone 
walls. In the disc of light a strange figure ap- 
peared, a small, ugly, humpback with a red skull- 
cap on his large head, pushing a loaded barrow, on 
which stood a lantern. 

Too terrified to move, the children breathlessly 
awaited their doom, but the approaching apparition 
suddenly disappeared, it seemed, into the wall. 

“ It is a ogre,” whispered Jack. 

But by the way it had come was a glimmer of 
light from an open door. To linger might mean to 
be shut up with the monster forever ; to go for- 
ward was to pass the spot Avhere it had disappeared. 
With palpitating hearts, creeping close by the wall, 
they came to the dread place, which proved to be a 
hole in the wall. They scampered forward to the 
light, and found an open door leading to a stone 
stairway, like that which they had descended half 
an hour ago. 

This they climbed, and found themselves in a 
hall. It could not be the hall of Greystone Lodge, 
for that they had left behind. And there were no 
heads of animals on the walls. Instead, were mir- 
rors and tapestry ; a lamp swung, censer-like, from 
an archway. Beyond the archway were sounds of 


music. 


A Maid of Mettle 


136 

“ It is a fiddle,” said Jack. 

They had recovered their courage with the 
warmth and light, and, with the confidence of chil- 
dren accustomed to welcome, went forward in the 
direction of the sweet sounds. Instead of a door 
they pushed aside a heavy curtain, and entered a 
room mysterious in half-light, in which nothing was 
distinctly seen, except a piano, against which leaned 
a harp, and the figure of a man with head bent 
lovingly over a violin. 

Jack and Elizabeth stood gazing spellbound. At 
last the musician lifted his eyes. As though con- 
jured by the magic of his bow, two fair-haired 
sprites stood before him staring with wide-eyed 
wonder. With almost as much wonder in his 
rugged face the man stared back. 

“ It’s us,” announced Jack politely. 

“So I perceive,” answered a deep, gruff voice. 

“ Lizzie-Bess is frightened,” explained Jack ; 
“ she don’t like ogres.” 


CHAPTEK YII 


THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR 

When Barbara found the nursery empty she 
searched the bedrooms, calling softly “ Jack,’’ “Eliz- 
abeth,” as she went; very softly, in dread lest 
Mrs. Grimby should have occasion to complain. 
The tea was getting cold upon the table — this in 
itself would be a cause of offense. 

His Majesty, Avith a backward glance at Barbara, 
which said as plainly as a dog’s look could, “ This 
Avay,” began to descend the stairs. 

“ How tiresome ! they lime gone down-stairs. I 
knew it would be impossible to keep them at the 
top of the house.” 

Barbara searched the hall, but his Majesty, with- 
out peering behind the suit of armor, which the girl 
thought might prove a hiding-place, stood at the 
green-baize door. Barbara opened it, and he walked 
through Avith an air of confidence to the cobbled 
yard. He stood at the door AAdthout a key. 

“ In there. Majesty ? ” 

Barbara tried it. 


137 


A Maid of Mettle 


138 

They can’t be there ; the door is locked.” 

Barbara tried the other door. It opened into a 
garden which, even in the dim light of evening, 
showed a fairyland of enchantment. The perfume 
of late spring flowers scented the air. Arches, 
spanning the winding paths, were festooned with 
vines. It was altogether unlike her uncle’s garden, 
which so far as she had seen was a lawn with stiff 
borders. 

“ It belongs to the house next door,” she thought. 
“What sort of people live in a house with such a 
delightful garden ? ” 

Closing the door in the wall with the recollection 
that she was on the verge of trespassing, Barbara 
turned her attention again to his Majesty, who lay 
with his nose to the door crack, his tail wagging 
slowly with pleasure. 

“ Come,” said Barbara, “ you are on the wrong 
scent.” But his Majesty knew better. He gave a 
deep bark of protest and remained where he was. 
Even when Barbara left him he did not move. 

There was nothing for it but to appeal for guid- 
ance. In spite of Mrs. Grimby’s assertion that the 
professor must not be disturbed, Barbara, with in- 
stinctive pride, would not go to the woman, who, 
she felt, disliked and resented the children’s advent; 


The House Next Door 139 

so, of two evils, decided to trouble her host rather 
than his servant. 

She tapped rather nervously at the study door. 

An impatient “ Come in ! ” answered her. 

“Excuse me. Uncle Keith,” said Barbara, timidly, 
“ but I can’t find the children.” 

He rose from his chair, a perceptible contraction 
of the brows making his face stern. 

“ Can’t find the children ! ” he echoed. 

“ I left them in the nursery, and while I was talk- 
ing to you here, they disappeared.” 

“ Extraordinary ! Disturbing, too — very disturb- 
ing.” 

He placed his hand upon his manuscript, and 
looked annoyed. 

Barbara Avished now that she had not come. It 
was evident “the children ” were not of first im- 
portance here. At that moment there was a ring 
at the door-bell, and presently a commotion in the 
hall for the second time that day. Then a knock 
at the study door, and Mrs. Grimby announced 
“Mr. Barton.” 

Mr. Barton was a man of short stature, with a 
massive head, and, Barbara thought at first sight, 
a very ugl}’^ face, except for the eyes, Avhich were 
brilliant and dark. But there was but a passing 


140 


A Maid of Mettle 


glance bestowed upon Mr. Barton, for by either 
hand he held a child. Barbara gasped with relief 

“ Do these belong to you, professor ? ” the little 
man asked without any preliminaries. 

“ Good-evening,” the professor answered stiffly. 
“ My nephew and niece, I believe.” 

“ So I supposed,” answered Mr. Barton, with a 
soft light in his dark eyes as he looked first down 
at one culprit and then at another. “ They stormed 
my castle half an hour ago, and accused me of keep- 
ing ogres in the cellar ” — his deep voice broke into 
a chuckle — “ it was my man storing some corrugated 
iron. He’s a humpback.” 

This last observation was addressed to Barbara. 
The professor introduced her to his visitor. 

“ My niece. Miss Barbara Clare — Mr. Barton.” 

The professor’s manner was still stiff. 

I must apologize,” he said, with a bow as formal 
as though the occasion was one of state, “ for the 
intrusion. The children must be taught to under- 
stand that — er — work cannot be broken in upon at 
any moment.” 

“ One for me ! ” thought Mr. Barton, whose mouth 
set with rather a savage look as he moved to the 
door. With a bow to Barbara, and an abrupt “ Good- 
evening,” he let himself out. 


The House Next Door 141 

“Always put my foot in it with the Encyclo- 
paedia,’’ he mumbled gruffly ; “never forgiven me.” 

Barbara, in a tremulous fashion, began to present 
her charges, whom she felt were in disgrace. 

“Jack, this is your Uncle Keith.” 

“AVell, my fine young gentleman, how do you 
do?” 

Barbara’s instructions on politeness were too plain 
to be misunderstood. He copied his model. 

“ Well, my fine old gentleman, how do you do ? ” 

“ He does not intend to be rude — he is trying to 
be polite,” murmured Barbara. 

“Yes,” affirmed Jack with unmistakable earnest- 
ness, “ I am trying to be polite. The woman said 
you are not as young as you used to be ! ” 

Barbara crimsoned. The professor stood in awk- 
ward silence. The tables were completely turned 
upon him. He had intended to take the lead. 

“ Elizabeth, shake hands with your uncle.” Bar- 
bara’s voice had a coaxing note in it. 

Elizabeth shook her head. 

“ She’s not rude ; she’s only five,” explained Jack. 
“ She’s got the homesick.” 

The boy’s face was turned in anxious explanation 
to the man. 

“Homesick, is she?” and the professor patted 


142 


A Maid of Mettle 


first one head and then the other. “There, my 
dears, be good, and stay quietly upstairs.” 

With another pat the professor dismissed them, 
and as the door closed turned again with a sigh 
of relief to his desk. But his thoughts had been 
diverted from the histor^T- of Kent, which he was 
writing, and upon which he had been engaged for 
many years, first in research, and afterwards in the 
assortment and allotment of his facts. 

“Extremely disturbing — extremely,” he reiter- 
ated. At that moment he felt his sister’s death to 
be a personal affliction, and that of her husband an 
act of recklessness. He was annoyed that the chil- 
dren had become acquainted with his next-door 
neighbor. Mr. Barton had no reverence for archm- 
ology ; things ancient were of little account to him. 
He took more pride in his roses than in intellectual 
pursuits. The world called him a great musician. 
But Professor Keith could see nothing great in 
music — “ an emotional, profitless pastime,” was his 
summing up. He had nothing in common with a 
man who devoted his life to perfumes and harmonies. 
But, unknown to himself, the professor had a resent- 
ment dating back to a day when, desirous of pur- 
chasing the house next door, he found that he had 
been forestalled by Mr. Barton. The house was 


The House Next Door 


H3 


the twin to Greystone Lodge ; very old, as the pro- 
fessor had discovered in his researches. It had not 
been for sale thirty years ago, when he purchased 
Greystone Lodge, and when at the death of the 
former owner the professor took steps to secure it, 
he found that it had been purchased already by its 
present occupant. 

Both houses had originally belonged to smugglers, 
men notorious or famous for their bravery, accord- 
ing to the light taken of their valiant deeds. 

Before the ground of the present Deal had been 
reclaimed and built upon, these houses were nearer 
to the sea, and the underground passages and 
vaults, now turned into storehouses, had been the 
scene of exciting adventure. Indeed, Mrs. Grimby 
would never go down the stone steps after dark, for 
she declared she heard strange and unearthly wail- 
ings. 

Both houses possessed a strong-room. But the 
professor’s studies had unearthed the fact that it 
was in the strong-room of Greystone House — the 
house next door, which had stored fabulous wealth 
of national importance in bygone times — that, at 
the end of the eighteenth century, an historic smug- 
gler had been nursed from his wounds and hidden 
from the authorities. 


A Maid of Mettle 


144 

The professor had been greatly distressed at losing 
the chance of possessing the house, but to lose it to 
a man who had modernized it was shocking. 

On one occasion the professor had waived his dis- 
approval, so far as to accept Mr. Barton’s invitation 
to visit the famous strong-room, and had been scan- 
dalized to find the house draped and mirrored, and 
turned, as he termed it, into “ an emporium for mu- 
sical instruments.” 

In return for the courtesy, the professor invited 
the musician to accompany him over the famous 
golf links, and interested Mr. Barton very much 
with stories of Deal in Mediaeval times, and also 
gave him authentic evidence to prove that the wild 
and romantic golf links was a vast graveyard of 
Koman soldiers ; that the piles of sand Avhich gave 
the golfers such splendid exercise were the barrows 
where, at the time of the invasion, Caesar’s slain 
warriors were buried. But since that time no ci- 
vilities had been exchanged beyond the courtesy of 
‘‘good-day.” The gruff, half-cynical manner of 
Mr. Barton left the impression behind that he was 
not impressed by the professor’s learning. 

When Barbara regained the nursery, she was sur- 
prised to find every vestige of tea and tea-things 


The House Next Door 14^ 

cleared away. True, it was past six, almost half- 
past, but the children had had no tea. Possibly 
they did not deserve any, but it was impossible for 
them to go without. There were other modes of 
punishment. Mrs. Grimby was taking a high hand. 
Barbara drew up her slight figure and crossed to the 
bell-rope. She gave it rather an emphatic pull. 

After waiting for some time, and getting no an- 
swer, Barbara rang again. At length Mrs. Grimby 
appeared, looking more like her name than ever. 

“ By whose orders did you take away the tray 
before we had tea, Mrs. Grimby ? 

Mrs. Grimby’s eyes gleamed angrily as they sur- 
veyed the slim, upright figure. She had met with 
something she had not expected. 

“ Orders ? ” she asked, as though not sure of the 
word, “ Orders ? ” 

“Did your master request you to remove the 
tray ? ” 

“ Tm ! ” slipped from Mrs. Grimby, contemptu- 
ously. “ I took it for my own convenience — it ’ad 
been waitin’ long enough, and the tea spoilt. The 
’ouse is all sixes an’ sevens. I’m punctual in my 
’abits, an’ can’t be messin’ about with meals at all 
hours ! ” 

“ Please send up tea,” answered Barbara in a tone 


146 A Maid of Mettle 

which admitted no argument. She was fighting for 
the little ones. 

“ I’m busy with the master’s dinner,” said the 
woman doggedly. 

<< Yery well,” responded Barbara, flushed but de- 
termined. “ Then I must go into the kitchen and 
prepare it myself.” 

But this Mrs. Grimby was determined Barbara 
should not do. She had reigned there supreme for 
fifteen years, and she intended to keep the reins of 
government. 

When Jack and Elizabeth had been fed and put 
to bed, Barbara, still quivering from her struggle 
of will with Mrs. Grimby, sat down before the fire- 
less grate. The evening, although the month was 
May, was decidedly chilly. Accustomed to the heat 
of Australia, the girl shivered. Sensitive at all 
times to her surroundings, her spirits were at zero. 
Her mother’s instruction to “face fact” had by 
adoption become part of her character. 

What, then, was her fact just now ? She had ac- 
complished her father’s desire, and brought the 
children “ home.” Their uncle was a recluse— dead 
to the world, to everything save study. He had 
been disturbed. The children had already broken 
through their barriers. The housekeeper had as- 



His Majesty Rested His Head Against His Mistress’s 
Knees in Dumb Sympathy 




The House Next Door I47 

sumed the position of mistress of her uncle’s estab- 
lishment, and hated her as a possible rival. 

JS’ot an easy situation. If she had to fight her 
way inch by inch, how weary the days would be ! 

llis Majesty, who had found his way back to the 
nursery, rested his head against his mistress’ knees 
in dumb sympathy. Barbara patted him, her 
thoughts straying from what was, to what she had 
hoped might be. She thought of her violin care- 
fully packed in one of her cases. That was her one 
personal pleasure and ambition. Isolated on their 
father’s farm, there had been small opportunity of 
indulgence in this master-passion of hers. Work as 
she might, without instruction there was no chance 
of success. 

A gruff half bark of protest from his Majesty 
heralded a knock and the appearance of Mrs. 
Grimby, who began to fear she had made extra 
work for herself by putting the strangers at the top 
of the house. 

“ The master’s waitin’ dinner for you,” she said 
grudgingly. 

Waiting dinner for her ! With a flush of pleased 
surprise Barbara hastened to touch up her hair — 
there was no time to unpack, and change her dress. 
She ran lightly down to the dining-room, where 


A Maid of Mettle 


148 

Mrs. Grimby was in attendance. The professor 
welcomed her nervously, but with courtesy. Her 
seat was placed at the head of the table, which she 
took naturally, blaming herself for a too hasty sum- 
ming up — she was not to be wholly banished, evi- 
dently. 

She was in happy ignorance of the fact that on 
entry into the dining-room the professor had found 
the table set for one as usual. 

“ Is Miss Clare too — er — occupied to dine ? ” he 
had asked. 

“ I thought, sir, you would prefer dining alone.” 

“ Ho — no ! Certainly not! Will you please call 
your young mistress ? ” 

Her young mistress ! The words were gall and 
wormwood. There was, perhaps, more than un- 
consciousness in the professor’s manner; perhaps 
he was tired of Mrs. Grimby’s encroachments and 
restrictions. She had served herself with as much 
faithfulness as she had served him. 

He watched her, in an abstracted fashion, making 
preparations for his niece at his right, then he 
roused and said, “At the head of the table, 
please.” 

But for Barbara’s efforts the meal would have 
been a silent one. The professor was preoccupied. 


The House Next Door 149 

rousing every now and again to the remembrance 
of little courtesies and attentions. 

At the end of the dinner he led the way into the 
drawing-room. It was swathed, and smelt damp 
and musty. 

“ Dear me ! ” murmured the professor, who had 
not entered the room for months, and looked about 
it as though searching for its lost attractiveness, 
“ this used to be a pleasant room. I think I re- 
member your mother thought so. I must put you 
in possession, child ; make it your own, and in 
every way, child, feel mistress in the house. I am 
much engaged during the day, but we dine at 
seven.” 

Barbara understood this to mean dismissal till 
that hour next evening. 


CHAPTEK YIII 


A VISIT TO BLACKTHOKNE 

The next morning was a busy one, unpacking; 
and Jack and Elizabeth were kept fully occupied in 
claiming their possessions as they appeared. When 
the bustle and confusion was at its height, a light 
knock at the door was followed by the appearance 
of Leonard Harper, looking fresh and fit, in a 
riding suit. 

Barbara’s exclamation of dismay was covered by 
shouts of welcome from the children, who claimed 
him as an old friend. 

“There isn’t a chair to offer you,” said Barbara, 
from her knees, among a pile of garments. 

“ I’ll sit here,” laughed Leonard, seating himself 
on a trunk and lifting Elizabeth to his knee. 

“You must excuse my springing myself upon 
you in this fashion, but I was told to ‘ go up a-top,’ 
where you were to be found. Are these the kid- 
dies’ quarters ? ” 

Barbara nodded. Leonard made no remark, but 
went on brightly : 


150 


A Visit to Blackthorne 151 

“ The mother sent me over to ask you to waive 
ceremony, and let me drive you all to Blackthorne 
this afternoon. She wants to make your acquaint- 
ance. Shall we say three o’clock ? ” 

“ How kind ! But — the children ? ” she began, 
doubtfully. 

“We’d come,” exclaimed Jack, anxious to assure 
Leonard upon the point. “ Myself and Lizzie-Bess 
will bring Barbara. We will have on our best be- 
havior.” 

Leonard laughed. 

‘‘ That’s settled, then. So I’ll be off, and leave 
you to the unpacking.” 

His eye fell on the violin and music-books lying 
beside him on the table. 

“ Are you the musician ? ” he asked, with a 
smile of interrogation at Barbara. He was quite 
unprepared for her reply. 

‘‘ I would give everything so to become, but I 
must not ; and I have never even heard a master 
of the instrument play.” 

“ Are you aware that your next-door neighbor is 
Joseph Barton, the famous violinist ?” 

“ Hot really ? ” gasped Barbara. She had risen ; 
all her demure shyness had fallen from her ; her 
cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. ‘‘ And I saw 


A Maid of Mettle 


152 

him and spoke to him, and didn’t know ! I thought 
him only a short, plain man, with wonderful eyes. 
And he is a genius ! ” 

“ Genius is not usually indicated by inches. The 
kings and queens don’t wear their crowns in pri- 
vate life.” 

“ You are laughing at me, Mr. Harper. What- 
ever can Mr. Barton think of us?” she continued, 
moving to the window and looking out at the 
gables of Greystone House as though she might 
gain some idea. “ Jack and Elizabeth made a raid 
on his house yesterday, and abused him for having 
a door without a key, which shut them in ” 

‘‘ There should have been a key,” interposed 
Jack gravely. 

‘‘Elizabeth mistook his servant for an ogre 
” continued Barbara. 

“ Yes, he was a ogre,” piped Elizabeth. 

“ And my uncle seemed ” Barbara be- 

came aware of the interested expression of four 
blue eyes, and changed the conclusion of the sen- 
tence. 

“ Yery shocked that Jack and Elizabeth 

should force their way into a gentleman’s house.” 

“Yes,” affirmed Jack, “he was so shocked, and 
Barbara was ’shamed of us. And when I said my 


A Visit to Blackthorne 


153 

prayers I told Satan not to find any mischief for 
idle hands to do. But he always does,’’ concluded 
Jack, with a sigh of resignation. 

^'‘Dare I take them ? ” asked Barbara of Leonard, 
on the landing. 

“ My mother expects them,” he answered. 

It was a glorious afternoon in May, and the drive 
was delightful. The red and white hawthorn was 
in full blossom in the sheltered lanes ; pulsing fields 
of corn and barley swept the hills and valleys ; hop 
gardens, turnip fields, every shade of green charmed 
the eye, fading away on the horizon to a misty 
sea-green that blended into the saffron of the 
sky. 

Silence — except for singing birds — and fragrance 
were all about them. Great clumps of lilac in full 
bloom alternated with laurel. Here and there a 
farmhouse, a distant windmill, a brown haystack, 
or a gray tower of an ancient church broke the 
monotony of the peaceful Kentish landscape. 
When they passed a patch of dark woodland, car- 
peted with yellow primroses and blue hyacinths, 
there was a clamor from Jack and Elizabeth to get 
out and gather the fair English fiowers. The little 
Australians had never seen anything so lovely. But 
Barbara restrained them. 


154 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ We’ll have a picnic here another day. You 
must not soil your hands and clothes now.” 

They looked at their soft white woolen suits 
with remembrance — they were going to see “the 
lady.” They had promised to be their very best 
selves. 

Turning into a winding drive, bordered by ash 
and oak-trees, they came to the porch of a ram- 
bling, picturesque old house, which looked as 
though it had grown with the ivy and vines that 
enwreathed it. Standing on the porch was the 
loveliest and sweetest old lady Barbara had ever 
seen — a picture in gray silk and white lace. All 
around her was the blossom and beauty of spring, 
and she was in touch with youth and fresh- 
ness. 

Leonard bared his head at sight of her, and Bar- 
bara, when she was presented, with an impulse of 
veneration, stooped and touched the soft white 
hand with her rosy lips. 

“ I met your mother, my dear,” said Mrs. Harper 
gently, “ when she was but a few years older than 
you. You are very like her.” 

Barbara’s eyes were so misty with joy that the 
two seraphs in white were blurred to her gaze. 
But she saw the outline of Jack, cap in hand, 


A Visit to Blackthorne 155 

making his best bow, and Elizabeth holding up her 
face to be kissed. 

They went through the hall, where a fire burned 
on the hearth and flickered on the pictured 
faces on the walls — great dames and gentle- 
men, who seemed to look down smilingly on the 
strangers. 

In the drawing-room Mrs. Harper drew Barbara 
to a low chair beside her, and before Barbara knew, 
she had told the gracious lady many things, and 
some of her perplexities. 

It was so good to come into contact with sweet- 
ness. Hever since her mother had died had any 
woman spoken to her so. Leonard had been enter- 
taining the kiddies, while his mother and her guest 
had been growing acquainted. He looked from the 
young to the old face, and appeared contented, for 
he smiled quietly. 

Jack and Elizabeth were saint-like in their de- 
meanor. The old lady caressed them with gentle 
hands and words till Jack seemed mesmerized by 
the spell of her face and voice. He sat on a low 
chair, his hands resting on his knees, his blue eyes 
from under their fringed lids looking steadily and 
dreamily. 

Barbara knew the attitude and began to feel ap- 


A Maid of Mettle 


156 

prehensive. She hoped Mrs. Harper wouldn’t no* 
tice. But she did. 

“ What are you thinking, child ? ” 

Without a flinch Jack replied : “ Barbara says 

we may always think the truth, but it is not al- 
ways polite to say it.” 

The old lady laughed merrily at this doubtful 
compliment. 

“ Myself,” continued Jack, who needed small en- 
couragement to talk, will be obedient, for if I am 
rude, and do not have my best manners, and talk 
too much, I shall be in disgrace, and boys in Eng- 
land are gentlemen. I like you,” concluded Jack, 
“ have you wings under your gown ? ” 

“ Jackie ! ” Barbara’s face was red ; Mrs. Harper’s 
eyes twinkled. Before anybody could interpose 
Jack added : • 

“Leonard said, ‘My mother is an angel.’ I 
thought you might have wings ! ” 

The sweet old eyes turned to the strong young 
man ; the faded cheeks tinged with pink. 

Leonard laughed in a restrained fashion. 

“ Little pitchers ! ” he said ; but in the general 
distraction caused by the announcement — “Mr. 
Barton,” — Mrs. Harper surreptitiously kissed Jackie. 

Mr. Joseph Barton came down the long dim 


A Visit to Blackthorne 


157 


drawing-room with his massive head held proudly. 
“ What a pity he is not a tall man ! ” was Barbara’s 
first thought among a confused rush of sensations. 
As she saw his dignity, his odd, brusque, yet courtly 
greeting, she added : “ He is just himself — not like 

anybody else at all.” 

Then she looked at Leonard. He was watching 
her intently. In a moment she understood he had 
planned this delight for her. After what she had 
said to him in the morning he had asked Joseph 
Barton to meet her. It was so like Leonard 
Harper. She had known him about thirty hours, 
yet she felt so sure of his kindness that she said to 
him, “ It was your doing.” 

After a bow, stiff as the professor’s, the great 
musician ignored Barbara. He was perhaps un- 
conscious of her presence, but she was content to 
watch him. He was one of her heroes. And he 
lived next door. Stranger still, her people had 
been rude to him. 

She saw him recognize Jack and Elizabeth. He 
crossed to them at once. What the children said 
she did not know, but she saw that he laughed. 
Then Leonard approached him, and — yes, he was 
going to play. 

For the next half hour Barbara lived in a dream. 


A Maid of Mettle 


158 

Music — was it only music which she heard ? Every 
want, every desire of her heart was expressed. 
Harmony filled every blank space between earth 
and heaven ; told her all that she had ever wanted 
to know; smoothed out the roughness of living, 
and carried her away into peace. She was trem- 
bling with emotion when the last tender note died 
away. A voice beside her startled her. The voice 
was deep; the manner rather gruff. But she did 
not notice the words. She looked up with her eyes 
bright. 

“ Thank you. It was exquisite,” she said softly. 

Mr. Barton looked hard at her. He had made 
a remark about the country, and she was thanking 
him for his music. Her manner was not conven- 
tional, not young-missish. But what could he say 
about the art of his lifetime to a girl out of the 
schoolroom ? He bowed, and crossing the room to 
Jack, sat down beside him. Jack was solemnly 
good, hands on his knees. Ilis eyes were large 
with wonder. 

“ How do you make it sing ? ” he asked. “ My- 
self can sing. But Barbara makes it cry.” 

This ambiguous speech needed some explanation. 

“ You mean the fiddle. Does Miss Barbara play 
the fiddle ? ” 


A Visit to Blackthorne 


159 


Jack nodded. “Myself,” he continued, “sings 
with my mouth — but I mustn’t never no more, be- 
cause the old gentleman doesn’t like a noise.” 

Mr. Barton knew that ; he smiled a little grimly. 

“You must come ajid sing to me, then, and bring 
the baby.” 

“ She’s Lizzie-Bess ; she’s five. I don’t think I 
must come,” replied Jack. “Barbara was ’shamed 
of us. She thinks you a short plain man with 
wonderful eyes. If you had been large we might 
have come, because if Uncle Keith wouldn’t let us 
you could have knocked him down.” 

“You can’t play ninepins with the human race 
like that, you know,” remonstrated the violinist, 
passing over the allusions to his personal appear- 
ance. “ It is not usual to knock a man down when 
he refuses an invitation.” 

Mr. Barton saw that Leonard and Barbara were 
in deep conversation ; he did not guess that he 
himself w^as the subject of the girl’s enthusiasm. 
“ Harper is not short and ugly,” he thought, look- 
ing wdth admiration at the tall, well-set-up figure. 
Until his talent had won Joseph Barton distinction, 
women, especially young and pretty women, had 
not taken any pains to disguise their aversion to his 
looks. The reminder struck him a little unpleas- 


i6o A Maid of Mettle 

antly to-day. Mrs. Harper’s house was a refuge 
from the world and its insincerities. At her bid- 
ding he came at any time, and in his reverence for 
her gave of his best. But a mood of dejection 
overcame him : one of the moods that had been his 
constantly through the days of poverty not left 
far enough behind to absolutely forget. 

“You must come to me often,” said Mrs. Harper 
to her young guest ; “ it will be kind to an old 
woman. And perhaps, too, it will be a change from 
the quiet of Grey stone Lodge. The professor, I 
fear, will seldom be with you — ^although so long as 
he works on his history he will be in Kent. But 
you will find a way out of many difficulties, I am 
sure.” 

“ Do you think my uncle well ? ” asked Barbara. 

“You think he is not?” queried Mrs. Harper. 
“ He is so difficult to see — he is rarely accessible to 
any one who calls. More and more of late years he 
lives with his work. It would be a big thing if you 
could rouse him. We anticipate much from the 
children.” 

“ But,” faltered Barbara, “ he seems to have for- 
gotten their existence.” 

Mrs. Harper smiled ; she thought it possible they 
would remind him of their advent. 


A Visit to Blackthorne i6i 

Which proved true, for, leaving Blackthorne 
rather late, there was scarcely time for Barbara to 
hustle them into bed and do her hair before putting 
in an appearance at seven o’clock dinner. 

Barbara’s very evident wish to be rid of them 
aroused their indignation. To be almost thrown 
into bed w^as an indignity. 

“We haven’t said our prayers,” objected Jack, as 
the door closed behind Barbara. 

“ I want to shay me prayers,” affirmed Eliza- 
beth. 

“ Myself cannot be good if we do not say our 
prayers,” declared Jack in protest against being 
made of no account. He sat up in bed sullenly for 
a few moments, then flattened out the bedclothes in 
front of his knees, and on an imaginary keyboard 
began to run his fingers up and down, in imitation 
of some one playing the piano. He became so ab- 
sorbed in his mimic performance that he forgot his 
grievance. His little body bent right and left, the 
supple fingers racing over imaginary runs and flour- 
ishes in a manner that fascinated Elizabeth. She 
sat up and looked on solemnly. At last she said, 
“ Shing to me.” 

But Jack was at the most brilliant part of his 
mimic performance, thumping out silent thunder on 


i 62 


A Maid of Mettle 


the bass, and only shook his head. With a sigh of 
satisfaction he shot his legs forward, the dummy 
keyboard collapsed. “ The sing is coming up in my 
throat,” he said. 

Half an hour later the professor was walking in 
the garden with Barbara, giving her the history of 
the house of Blackthorne — which she noted had 
nothing in common with the living Harpers — when 
he was startled by music from the eves of his own 
house — the unusual music of a child’s voice, clear, 
sweet, true, rising untamed as the lark’s song into 
the still evening air. 

It was Jackie singing. 

A turn in the garden revealed two fair heads 
close together at the open window framed with 
encircling vines. The white light of evening shone 
on two wrapt faces, while Jackie sang on. 

At length he ceased and became aware of his 
listeners. Of two of them at least. There was 
another on the other side of the garden wall whom 
he did not see. 

“It’s the old gentleman,” gasped Jackie, when 
the tall gray figure arrested his attention. The 
Ogre had proved a farce — nothing to be perturbed 
about. It had trundled its barrow and disappeared 
into the bowels of the earth ; but this silent, over- 


A Visit to Blackthorne 


163 

awing fact of the old gentleman couldn’t be ig- 
nored : he didn’t like children, hadn’t kissed Lizzie- 
Bess ; and on his account they were banished to the 
roof, and couldn’t make friends next door, and 
mustn’t play horses on the staircase, and mustn’t 
sing. They vanished. 

“ Myself,” said Jack reprovingly, ** should not 
have been asked to sing when it was in my throat. 
It rose out.” 

“ Didn’t you eat enough cake ? ” queried Eliza- 
beth, with anxious solicitude, having heard that 
people couldn’t sing very well after eating too 
much cake, and being desirous of shifting the im- 
plied blame. 

“ Barbara said I mustn’t have no more,” regret- 
fully. Then, after silent rumination : 

“ The old gentleman shouldn’t have gone out of 
doors.” 

“ Let’s ’pologize,” said Elizabeth, in whom the 
idea meant freedom and action. “ Let’s go down- 
stairs an’ ’pologize.” 

“ Yes, let’s.” 

So it happened that before the professor got 
properly seated at his desk two small hands tapped 
at his study door, low down. Opening it, he saw 
two white-robed figures. 


A Maid of Mettle 


164 

“ Myself wants to Apologize, and Lizzie-Bess 
wants to say her prayers.” 

They came in and shut the door, and before the 
professor could collect his thoughts he found him- 
self learning, in the form of Jack’s apology, that if 
they had not been forbidden to make a noise, there 
would have been no transgression in singing ; that 
father never put them under the roof, but had 
given him a pony of his own, which kicked beauti- 
fully, and once had thrown himself right into a 
pool, which had mudded him all over ; that if he 
had a pony now he would buck -jump him in the 
garden, and clear the back gate ; that, failing the 
pony, a boat would do — he could row and row, 
also catch fish — large fish ; that once he should 
have caught a lot of whitebait in a net, only the 
river ran into the net and dragged himself in, and 
father drew him up in the net, and said he had 
caught a very fine fish ! 

It was Jack’s opportunity. He liked to sing; 
the ugly gentleman next door had said he might 
go and sing there, only you couldn’t knock a man 
down when he wouldn’t let you. 

“ How I’ll shay my prayers,” declared Elizabeth, 
sweetly, smiling coquettishly into the grave face ; 
and the little one knelt at the grave man’s knees : 


A Visit to Blackthorne 


165 


“ Jeiiknl Jesus, meak and mild 
Look upon a little child, 

Pity me simple Lizzie, 

Suffer me to come to zee.’’ 

And long after the professor was left alone the 
child’s misquotation occurred to him : 

“ Pity me, simple Lizzie.” 


CHAPTER IX 


BEES TOO BUSY 

In raidsummer news reached Blackthorne that 
Dija was coming home. Barbara heard it with 
pleasure. She anticipated good times. “ The brick 
of a girl” was to pay a long visit to her god- 
mother, and Barbara wished for Dija’s coming 
more than she wished for anything, except that she 
could hear Joseph Barton play once more. 

She had watched for him constantly until she 
heard that he was away. His absence seemed in 
some inexplicable way to put herself and her little 
fiddle further away from companionship. She had 
read that the men and women whom the world 
most admired, whose genius was an inspiration to 
thousands, had been many of them obscure and 
poor and unknown, and had by mighty effort and 
courage labored to success. Hot that she ever 
hoped or thought to be a success. She knew that 
to be master of any art meant a life’s devotion. 
But when there was no other nearer duty she dis- 
appeared with her fiddle into the strong-room, 
166 


Bees too Busy 167 

where, securely shut in and assured that she could 
not be heard, she played and dreamed of what 
might have been if she had not been Barbara Clare. 
Being Barbara Clare meant “ facing fact,” and her 
fact meant few hours for self-indulgence. 

The professor, as the weeks passed, roused to the 
consciousness that Barbara’s presence was becom- 
ing pleasant to him. He expressed his apprecia- 
tion by communicativeness regarding his work. 
The great history became one of those exacting 
facts that Barbara had to meet. Its author read 
her extracts after dinner in the drawing-room, 
which under her hands became a charming room, 
bright and sweet with the perfume of flowers. 

The girl in her tender sympathy felt the sadness 
of tlie man’s isolation ; his concentration and labor 
had something sacred in its absoluteness. Was it 
always so — did greatness always demand self- 
obliteration ? 

Into his pauses from toil she slipped little dis- 
tractions and attentions, proffered small services 
which he accepted unconsciously. Unconsciously, 
too, he shortened her hours of leisure by protract- 
ing the after-dinner converse, which in reality was 
more of a mental task than a relaxation to the girl. 
From discussing the news with him Barbara took 


i68 


A Maid of Mettle 


to reading the papers aloud, and the first admission 
of weariness Professor Humphries had ever been 
known to express was contained in the admission : 

“ It rests my eyes. Thank you.” 

The professor himself was the last to notice the 
almost imperceptible changes that crept into Grey- 
stone Lodge. But he found himself anticipated ; 
his desk, which he allowed no one to touch (so he 
imagined), was kept more orderly than of yore. His 
manuscript paper and pens were always at hand, 
his ink-bottle was never empty. This latter fact 
impressed itself upon him at length. Keally it was 
extremely thoughtful ! It gratified him exceed- 
ingly ; he would have been amazed had he under- 
stood how many tasks the small deft hands that 
filled his ink-bottle performed every day. 

One morning in early June the professor roused 
to the consciousness that while he wrote, the inter- 
mittent sound of children’s voices floated in 
through the open window. He brought his mind 
from the past to the present, and saw Jack and 
Elizabeth flitting about among the wallflower and 
gooseberry bushes in the garden. Since the night 
of their storming of his fortress he had scarcely 
heard and seldom seen them. 

What were they doing ? 


Bees too Busy 169 

Both of them had their right hand covered with 
a white cloth or paper. Jackie held a bottle in 
one hand, into which at intervals he seemed to put 
something gathered off the bushes. AVith each de- 
posit was a vigorous shaking of the bottle. 

The professor drew his gaze from the garden, and 
read his last written sentence : 

“ On the 16th of September, 1617, a resolution 
was passed to the effect that the Cinque Ports 
should establish a Trinity House in connection with 
their pilots ” 

‘‘ Sixteen hundred and seventeen ” was blotted 
out by merry laughter. Jackie was vigorously 
shaking the bottle, and Elizabeth, radiant and in- 
terested, was looking on. 

‘‘ What are they doing ? ” asked the professor of 
himself. ‘‘ A jury was appointed,” he wrote, “ to 
consist of twelve representatives. Two from Deal, 
four from Sandwich, six from Dover.” 

Again the laughter. Outside there in the sun- 
shine a small boy and girl thought nothing of the 
history of Kent. It struck the student suddenly, 
with a sort of blow, that of the millions of young, 
joyous hearts in the world, but a score at most 
would care that he had given his life for research. 

He had been alone, he and his work, as long as 


A Maid of Mettle 


170 

he could consider himself a man. But what did it 
count with the young how many lives had gone to 
make the world, to put knowledge into their hands ! 
They took the world as they found it. 

His eyes fell upon a vase of roses on his desk. 
It occurred to him now that for many mornings a 
vase of flowers had stood there. He had not actu- 
ally seen it before. It struck him pleasantly. Had 
some one thought of him ? It must be Barbara. 
How did she spend her time ? What occupied her 
all the day ? Every evening at dinner she ap- 
peared smiling, listening when he talked, talking 
Avhen he listened. 

He rose abruptly and went into the garden. 

Jack and Elizabeth were half buried under a 
currant bush. 

“ Good-morning. What are you doing ? ” 

The boy and girl disentangled themselves from 
the branches, and came into view instantly ; Jack 
still holding to the bottle, from which came a deep, 
buzzing sound. 

“We are making honey,” said Jack. 

The professor looked from the boy to the bottle, 
from the bottle to the swathed hand, from the 
hand to Elizabeth. 

“ I do not understand,” said the man of learning. 


Bees too Busy 171 

Jack swelled with information. 

“ Bees make honey,” he informed the professor, 
and offered him the bottle in which a dozen bees 
buzzed and fought for life in water. 

“ Bear, dear ! ” murmured the professor, tipping 
up the bottle to liberate the abusive bees. “ Bees 
and water do not constitute honey; the bees ex- 
tract it from flowers.” 

“ Oh ! ” murmured Jack, with a regretful glance 
after the escaping bees, caught at so much peril. 

‘‘ I am afraid you are not grounded in the roots 
of science.” 

Jackie considered. 

“ Myself had some roots of polyanthus in the 
ground once, but Lizzie-Bess dug them up an’ they 
didn’t grow.” 

There and then the professor gave a preliminary 
lecture on bees ; and while the victims of the chil- 
dren’s ignorance buzzed out of the bottle and dried 
their wings in the sunshine, their daring captors 
learned that honey was not made after the fashion 
of jam. 

The professor was so strongly impressed by the 
mild and attentive demeanor of his pupils, who ap- 
peared to listen with careful attention, that he in- 
vited them into his study, and through a micro- 


172 


A Maid of Mettle 


scope showed the movement of a captured and be- 
wildered bee. They saw its eyes, its sting — and 
the professor felt satisfied that at the end of the 
precious hour he had devoted to the subject they 
had an accurate knowledge of how bees made 
honey. 

He would have been somewhat startled had he 
known the result of his lesson. 

“Let’s play bees,” remarked Jack. 

“ Zer ain’t enough flowers,” responded Elizabeth. 
Then they eyed each other. 

“ One day,” resumed Jack, “ when the door in the 
wall was open, myself saw a beautiful garden. It 
had flowers.” 

“ The door is in the yard, Jackie.” 

“ Myself an’ you must not be disobedient, Lizzie- 
Bess. We must not go into Mr. Barton’s garden.” 

“ Ze bees can go. I want to be a bee, a dear lit- 
tle bee, an’ I will put my little nose into the flowers 
an’ gazzer the honey.” 

This argument found a hearing with Jack. A 
few minutes afterwards two silent figures disap- 
peared through the large door, and reappeared pres- 
ently in the cobbled yard. 

“ If I was a little girl I should not go into the 
gentleman’s garden, but I am a ’dustrious little bee.” 


173 


Bees too Busy 

Jack tried the latch. They had tried it several 
times since they had caught a glimpse of the garden. 
It Avas usually locked. To-day it was unlocked. 

Presently two figures were flitting from rose-bush 
to mignonette, burying their noses deep among the 
blossoms, then with a buzzing noise and outspread 
arms making for another bed. 

Mr. Barton, from the shelter of a garden seat, 
watched them, inquiringly. “ What are they 
about?” he asked himself, as the professor had 
done. Since the tea-party at Blackthorne he had 
been in London most of the time. He had seen 
nothing of the young folk of Greystone Lodge, ex- 
cept an occasional glimpse of them Avalking out de- 
murely with their sister in charge. 

The humpback servant who was at Avork among 
the roses lifted his head, and saw the children also. 
He stood up suddenly; The human bees caught 
sight of him. 

A smile softened the rugged face of Mr. Barton. 

“ It’s the ogre,” said Elizabeth. 

“Why,” responded Jack, in a tone of disappoint- 
ment, “ he’s a man.” 

Elizabeth sidled up — her hand in her brother’s — 
until she stood just in front of the gardener, their 
backs turned to Mr. Barton. 


174 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Yes,” said Elizabeth in concentrated surprise — 
“ yes, he is a man.” 

Mr. Barton, who had lifted his violin quietly from 
the garden seat, suddenly drew his bow across the 
strings. There was a wild shriek, and in sudden 
fright the children turned round. 

“ You shouldn’t do that,” remonstrated Jack ; “it 
gives Lizzie-Bess the heart- jump.” 

“ It frightens my poor shelf,” reproved she. 

“ Frightens your poor shelf, does it ? But Avhat 
about me ? You have completely shattered my 
nerves with your antics and grimaces among my 
flowers.” 

His voice was very gruff. They looked at each 
other. 

“ He ain’t cross,” remarked Jack, “ he’s got the 
twinkle in his eyes ; when father had the twinkle 
in his eyes he was not cross. We are not disobe- 
dient,” he explained to Mr. Barton, “we are 
bees ” 

“ Making honey while the sun shines, eh ? ” 

Jack acquiesced. 

“ Ze garden door was open and we flew^ed in,” 
explained Elizabeth. 

The garden door had been opened by Mr. Barton 
himself, with the hope that a boy song-bird might 


Bees too Busy 175 

wing liis way thither. That he had come in the 
character of a bee was of little importance. 

Mr. Barton pretended to ignore the intruders. 
Taking up his instrument, he very softly and swiftly 
played a dainty air. When he had ceased he was 
alone with the boy. Elizabeth was wandering 
among the flowers. A half smile was on Jackie’s 
lips; another gay song rippled from the bow. 
Jackie laughed. For half an hour he stood there, 
swaying as the musician did ; then what Mr. Bar- 
ton had tried for, came to pass. Jackie lifted his 
head and began to sing. 

Meanwhile the professor had, after an unusual 
effort, concentrated his attention upon his work 
again. The quiet opening of his study door did not 
disturb him, but presently he was startled by a faint 
sigh. He turned round suddenly. A scared, 
pinched pale face looked from a mass of tangled 
curls. 

“I’m mis-er-ble,” sighed Lizzie-Bess; “I want 
to stop with you.” 

“ There, there, dearie ! ” murmured Jack tenderly 
from the door. “ He won’t be angry with you ! 
She’s only fivm,” he added, crossing the room and 
looking up into the professor’s face, while he rea- 
soned in extenuation that if the professor had not 


A Maid of Mettle 


176 

told Lizzie-Bess how the bees made honey Lizzie- 
Bess would not have played at bees ; and then she 
would not have gathered all Mr. Barton’s flowers 
and heaped them in O — o — w ! such a pile outside 
the gate ; and the man that wasn’t an ogre wouldn’t 
have threatened to chop Lizzie-Bess into mince- 
meat. 

Clearly the professor was in the wrong. Ground- 
ing children in knowledge had strange results. He 
would abandon the idea. 

But an apology was due to Mr. Barton, which the 
professor immediately wrote, with a recommenda- 
tion to keep his garden door locked. 

Mr. Grimby, who was despatched with the note, 
returned presently with an answer. Mr. Barton re- 
gretted that the professor had been disturbed by 
such a trifle ; it was entirely his own, Mr. Barton’s, 
fault. But he did not grudge his flowers if they 
gave the children any pleasure ; he hoped they 
would make themselves entirely at home in his gar- 
den, and concluded with an invitation to Jack and 
Elizabeth to tea. 

“ Extremely kind,” said the professor, much re- 
lieved. For a man who spent so much of his time 
rearing choice blossoms it was magnanimous. 

“ Ho,” said Elizabeth, shaking her head. “ I do’ 


Bees too Busy lyy 

want to go ; I do’ like a garden ; I do’ like to shing. 
I’ll stay with you an’ look at ze telescope.” 

Which made the professor look at her thought- 
fully. Who knew ? — there might be the undevel- 
oped scientific brain slumbering beneath the golden 
curls! But Jack was wiser; he knew it was a 
guilty conscience. He had suffered from them him- 
self. 

“ I’ll go,” he affirmed. “ I like to sing.” 


CHAPTEE X 


THE COMING OF DIJA 

“ The Zelandia should be reported this morning,” 
announced Leonard one morning in September, 
when he met Barbara on the sea front. 

The Zelandia was homeward bound from Aus- 
tralia, and had Dija on board. 

“Unlucky this sea mist,” continued Leonard, “or 
we could have sighted the boat as she passed.” 

The channel was dim beneath a grayish-white 
pall, which lifted at the edge to show the brown 
pebbly shore. Phantom boats and yachts were 
visible close on to the beach, but larger vessels far 
out were entirely obliterated. Low, sweeping 
clouds of mist blotted out the landmarks, and made 
the landscape featureless. There was no wind, but 
the heavy waves tumbled upon the shore with a 
long roll. The boatmen were busy drawing their 
luggers and smaller boats high and dry to the sum- 
mit of the sloping beach. The yellow boats and 
the blue jerseys of the men were the only touch of 

color in the grayness. The galley punts, powerful 
178 


The Coming of Dija 


179 


and trustworthy, were rigged ready for use, and 
Barbara knew Jthe grouped life-boat men were on 
the lookout for any signal of distress. Many a ves- 
sel had run on the Goodwins in a mist. The great 
“ship-swallower” was ever ready for prey. 

Leonard left Barbara talking to the boatmen, and 
went to the boatmen’s rooms and had a look through 
the glass ; but the mist was too heavy for observa- 
tions, and he presently rejoined Barbara. 

Jack and Elizabeth were, they proudly imagined, 
helping a stalwart seaman to secure his boat. The 
spirit of activity had been caught by the lad, for he 
pulled and shouted over his labor as heartily as the 
men. 

Leonard seemed restless, too. He walked to 
Lloyds’ to inquire, but no report was to hand ; then, 
partly to kill time and partly to interest Barbara, 
he took her to inspect the magnificent blue life-boat 
which, with its men, has won world-wide fame. 
The coxswain and his men had told the girl many 
tales of dangers met and conquered. To Barbara 
the heroes of the Goodwins were as personal 
friends. 

She gleaned from their restrained manner, and a 
sort of impatient expectancy, that a storm was com- 
ing. The mist, lifting for a few moments, revealed 


i8o 


A Maid of Mettle 


the Downs covered with ships that had put in for 
shelter; then swept down again and blotted from 
view the Piccadilly of the sea. 

Although the wind had not risen, there was an 
ominous roar of breakers along the shore. A 
strange, breathless excitement imparted itself to 
Barbara. The tales to which she had listened 
haunted her ; the spirit of the men whose business 
took them on deep waters had cast its spell over 
her. 

With reluctance she called to Jack and Elizabeth 
that they must return home to lunch. The children 
were as loth to go as she. 

They walked slowly along the street between 
the boats, turning back at intervals to look at the 
knot of men about the life-boat station and the 
signals going up at the coastguards’. 

Suddenly the nets — which the fishermen had had 
stretched on poles by the wayside — began to flap in 
a land wind. It came in such a sudden gust that 
Elizabeth was blown off her feet and, it appeared, 
into the hands of Mr. Barton. 

“There’s going to be weather,” he announced, 
trudging beside Barbara with his burden, and speak- 
ing loudly in his deep tones to make himself heard 
above the wind, which was rising momentarily. 


The Coming of Dija i8i 

Barbara wanted to thank him for certain singing 
lessons that Jack was receiving, but it was too ri- 
diculous to bawl. The house was reached, and the 
door banged behind them without conversation. 
All Barbara’s interviews with Mr. Barton seemed 
fated to be abrupt. 

The “ weather ” rose to a gale of wind, and all 
the afternoon the timbers of the house strained in 
it. From the last window of the nursery there was 
a view of the Downs, from which the mist had 
been swept; the shipping sheltering there rolled 
heavily ; sky and sea were sullen with storm. 

The hours dragged slowly away. The gray 
shadows depressed the children, who were unusually 
quiet, and sat on the rug before the fire Barbara 
had lighted, and told each other stories in low 
tones. The room had undergone a transformation 
under Barbara’s hands ; the walls were covered 
with photographs of old friends, and pictures of the 
old home; but to-day Barbara’s thoughts were 
with Dija and the Zelandia out on the angry 
sea. 

The children were in bed at last and, tired with 
their morning’s exertions, slept quickly. When 
Barbara joined the professor she told him that the 
Zelandia was due. 


i 82 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ I half expected Mr. Harper would bring news 
this afternoon,” concluded Barbara. 

“ Well, my dear, if you would like we will go as 
far as Lloyds’ after dinner. The wind has 
lulled.” 

The professor gave Barbara his arm with old- 
fashioned courtesy. They turned to the sea front. 
The light had not quite faded, and a full moon was 
rising over the heaving sea, showing only fitfully 
through the scudding clouds, but the lamps were 
lighted, and all along Beach Street there was a 
ruddy glow, which shone on the characteristic and 
picturesque groups of sea-folk among the boats. 
There was an unusual number of boatmen in the 
street, for the sea had made them some business 
that afternoon. 

Boom! 

The signal of distress. 

It seemed to Barbara that she had been listening 
for it all day. 

Boom ! boom ! — a ship was on the Goodwins. 

The cry passed from lip to lip. The men who 
never owned the sea their master, upon whose faces 
the story of many a daring deed was written, 
sprang to the call instantly. They dropped their 
ropes, left their boats, or came racing down the 


The Coming of Dija 183 

street, jostling and pushing each other for entrance 
to the boat-house to secure the life-belts and man 
the life-boat. 

In two minutes it seemed that half the inhabit- 
ants of the little town had crowded to the spot ; 
bareheaded men, women .with shawls over their 
heads, land-folk and sea-folk fighting together to 
see the life-boat launched. 

Barbara had become separated from the pro- 
fessor, but she was too excited to notice. She 
slipped and pushed her slight form to the edge of 
the shore. 

There were gruff voices shouting directions, the 
crowd stood back ; then the life-boat, with its life- 
belted crew, rushed down the inclined beach on the 
‘‘ skids,” and, amid ringing cheers, rose like a great 
bird over the rolling surf and disappeared into the 
mist. 

Barbara leaned back against what she mistook 
for a post, and cried quietly. She was all of a 
tremble — her heart went out with the gallant res- 
cuers for those in peril. Her post spoke : 

“ Don’t be so distressed. Miss Clare ; those men 
have rescued hundreds.” 

She started into an upright posture and crimsoned 
in the dark. 


A Maid of Mettle 


184 

“ Mr. Barton — I leg your pardon ; I — I’ve been 
leaning against you.” 

“ As Jackie would argue, if I hadn’t been here it 
would not have occurred. The blame is mine.” 

Barbara met the dark, sad eyes with her soft up- 
turned gaze. “The kindness is yours, as usual,” 
she replied. “ I believe you’ve been taking care of 
me.” Then, before he could answer, she asked, 
“ Have you seen Mr. Harper lately ? ” 

“ A few minutes ago,” he replied quietly. “ Shall 
I find him ? If you will stay here I’ll bring him.” 

He disappeared. Presently another taller figure 
stood beside her. “ Barbara,” said Leonard, “ you 
should go home, child. Let Mr. Barton take you 
home. I must stay here ” 

“ Then it is the Zelandia f ” 

“ It is feared so.” 

Leonard’s face was tense and set ; his eyes looked 
steadily into Barbara’s. She pulled herself together 
instantly. Women making a fuss in times of stress 
only weakened a man. “ I will go home,” she said 
quietly. 

Barbara could not sit calmly down and wait for 
the long hours to pass. The storm had passed. 
The night was still. After its rage nature had 
fallen asleep. But out there, where the wild surf 


The Coming of Dija 185 

beat over the sands — how would a girl within sight 
of home bear it ? She thought of a night of storm 
when the shuddering ship had dipped and plunged ; 
of her own terror. She heard again the creaking 
cordage, and the thud of the great waves. ‘‘ Dija ! ” 
she called, as though she saw her in her peril. A 
knock at the door made her start to her feet. 

The tall, stooping figure of the professor stood 
there. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, with his habitual 
courtesy. “ I did not find you in the drawing- 
room. May I come in ? ” 

Barbara was touched and pleased. He had 
sought her to keep her company. It was his first visit. 

“ Ah I ” he exclaimed, comprehensively. She 
knew the room pleased him, but if he had seen it 
on Barbara’s first occupation would it have recom- 
mended itself then, she wondered. 

He stood for a long time silently before a picture 
of his sister, then turned his tired eyes to her 
daughter. 

“ Yery like,” he said, as though to himself. Then 
turning to Barbara, he remarked : 

“I believe that coffee is ready down-stairs. 
Afterwards, if you are not too tired, we might 
walk again to the beach.” 


i86 


A Maid of Mettle 


A group of anxious watchers was near the boat- 
house. The moon shone in an unbroken expanse of 
sk}". Many of the ships which had taken shelter 
in the Downs in the morning had gone on their 
way. Those that remained showed ruddy lights. 
The pier lights ran out into the misty waters, and 
lamps of the esplanade picked out the north cliff 
past the coastguard station, where the coastguards 
were on duty. 

It was a scene of peace and security ; the night 
was still — only the heavy rollers on the beach told 
of the conflict that had been, and the deep roar of 
a tremendous sea. 

Dawn broke at length and faintly lit the east. 
Long since the guns and rockets from the light- 
ships had ceased ; there was nothing from the chill, 
gray waters to indicate life. But Leonard, who 
was straining his sight through the glass in the 
seamen’s room, suddenly gave a shout — the life-boat 
was emerging from the mist of the breakers. 

An hour later the group on the beach saw her 
plunging into and rising over the waves, coming 
onward to the shore. 


CHAPTEE XI 


FRIENDS OLD AND NEW 

When Dija opened her eyes the sun was high 
and streaming brightly into the room. For a mo- 
ment she was confused — the room was strange, so 
were the photographs and knickknacks — also the 
scrupulous neatness. In a flash she remembered ! 
This was Professor Humphries’ house — Leonard and 
the professor had brought her here in the early 
dawn. She had been too numbed and cold for 
vivid impressions, but she retained a consciousness 
of letting go when she heard Leonard’s voice, and 
felt his strong arms bearing her up. 

Before that, had she been afraid ? 

Dija sat up in bed and faced the question, elbows 
on knees, her face, between her hands, her dark eyes 
gazing dreamily, her long hair streaming about her 
shoulders. “Was I afraid ? ” she asked. The 
dense fog through which the ship had groped and 
which shut off the first sight of home for which 
she had longed had been an eerie thing ; it had 

shut them off from the world ; the sudden gale and 
187 


i88 


A Maid of Mettle 


the mountainous seas, the bump which made the 
ship shiver like a wounded thing — it had been ter- 
rible ! More terrible still had been the cries of the 
women and the children, and that long, awful 
waiting. 

“ If it had not been for Myrn I should have been 
afraid,” concluded Dija. How cool her companion 
had been. She recalled other occasions when he 
had faced death with the same quiet. 

“A life of hardship does discipline one,” con- 
cluded Dija. “ I’m glad I know how little to be 
feared work is ; how thoroughly a man may be a 
gentleman and work from dawn till dark.” 

The door softly opened and a fair, slender girl 
came quietly in. The dark eyes of Dija met the 
blue eyes shining with a shy pleasure. 

‘‘ You are awake ? ” 

‘‘You’re Barbara Clare!” exclaimed Dija, too 
much awake to comment on the fact. “ And I’m 
in your bed — I half remember your fussing with me 
last night and I went to sleep like a pig, I suppose, 
with a grunt for thanks — I do those things.” 

Barbara laughed. 

“ To hear you grunting in safety was all we de- 
sired. We had been so terribly anxious.” 

“ Had you ? ” 


Friends Old and New 189 

Dija looked attentively at the girl beside the bed. 
‘‘ But you didn’t know me ? ” 

“Oh yes, I did. I know Leonard Harper and 
Myrn. Myrn is at Blackthorne ; he landed this 
morning, but most of the passengers have gone on 
to London with the ship ; they have got her off the 
sands and she is being towed by the tug.” 

Dija nodded. 

“ If you would like to get up now, you will find 
your bath hot, and breakfast ready by the time you 
come down-stairs.” 

Half-an-hour later Dija descended, refreshed 
though rather pale. 

“ Why, Barbara ! ” she exclaimed, “ it is mid- 
day ! ” 

“ It usually is at this hour,” responded Barbara, 
pouring out tea. 

“ But you don’t breakfast at this hour ! ” 

“Not unless we have a guest who has been 
wrecked the night before — why, here’s Mr. Har- 
per ! ” 

Dija sprang to her feet and Barbara slipped 
from the room. Leonard with his face alight with 
pleasure held Dija’s outstretched hands. It was an 
awkward moment for both. Dija’s impulse had 
been to lift up her face to be kissed, and Leonard’s 


190 


A Maid of Mettle 


to take her into his arms as in the old days when 
she tyrannized over him, and proposed marriage. 
Last night when he had lifted the chilled, half- 
unconscious girl from the boat, she had seemed the 
same Dija who had left them, coming home again 
from one of her scrapes, but this morning her 
young maidenhood put a barrier between them — 
the blushing cheeks, the tall, graceful figure, re- 
minded Leonard that Dija, the playmate, was dead 
to him forever. He grudged the years that had 
stolen her. To cover his emotion he spoke lightly. 

‘‘ It was so like you to come home in this fashion. 
A quiet landing at the dock, a decorous restoration 
to mother and friends would have been unlike 
Dija.” 

She looked at him without speaking for a mo- 
ment, much as she had looked at Barbara, taking in 
the new impressions which were presented. 

‘‘ Nothing ever happens as one anticipates,” she 
answered, and there was a stifled sigh and half- 
sadness in the fresh young voice, which Leonard 
noticed. “I pictured and pictured coming home, 
but never like this — chucked upon my native shore 
like a Jonah.” 

“Isn’t there something wrong with the meta- 


Friends Old and New I9I 

Dija laughed, then remembered that her 
hands were still in Leonard’s. She released them. 

“ Eead these,” he said, handing her a pile of 
telegrams ; some opened and addressed to himself, 
others unopened and directed to Dija. 

She read them with quick changes of expression. 
Several were from her mother, expressive of joy 
and gratitude at her child’s safety; also of her 
intention to come to Deal and take her home. 

At this first touch of the mother-hand which had 
been so ineffectual to guide her in the past, Dija 
had a strange sensation, — not rebellion, yet not 
pleasure. 

“ I believe I like being free,” she thought. She 
remembered the gentle, timid, apprehensive mother 
who had ever feared for her, and never hoped for 
her. The shadow of a dread fell across her heart. 
Was coming home to be a silken bondage ? 

‘‘ I’m a beast,” she informed Leonard, who was 
watching her. His expression lightened. This 
was Dija. Hot any young lady who had taken 
her place. He didn’t know a bit w’hat she was 
troubled about, but he knew Dija. 

“ Anyhow,” he said, “ you must eat. Sit down 
at once. The toast is getting cold ; also the eggs, 
and the ‘ little mother ’ poached them.” 


A Maid of Mettle 


192 

Dija made an attack. She ate for a moment, 
then she said, “ Isn’t she pretty ? ” 

“ Yery.” 

‘‘ And sweet ? ” 

“ Yery.” 

“ Not pulpy ? ” 

“ Not a bit.” 

“ I knew she wasn’t. Clever ? ” 

Leonard slipped another poached egg upon Dija’s 
plate. 

“ What do you think yourself ? ” he asked. 
“ She manages this house, teaches the kiddies, 
turns the venom of Mrs. Grimby into honey, draws 
the professor from his study, gets everybody to 
turn their best side out — and never makes a fuss.” 

“It’s a horrid shame,” declared Dija, pushing 
back her chair and looking threateningly at 
Leonard. 

“What is?” 

“ About Barbara. She’s always been like that • 
Myrn told me. That’s the worst of being good ; 
everybody expects you to sacrifice. And why 
should one person give up her life for another ? ” 

Leonard shook his head. 

“ The fact that the other person expects it shows 
they are not worthy. I’m never going to do it.” 


Friends Old and New 


193 


“ Not ? ” 

“ No. I can only be Dija Danvers once, and I’m 
going to make her happy — and powerful. I’ll 
not be a sponge to sop up other people’s sorrows — 
and failures.” 

Leonard got up and crossed to where Dija stood. 

“ There’s something in that,” he answered. 
“ That’s the interesting fact of life — view it from 
what point you will, it almost always has its justifi- 
cation and its heroism. Even the sponge.” 

There was a faint inscrutable smile on his lips 
Avhich made Leonard more of the companion of old 
days than anything yet. He had smiled just so 
when she had rebelled as a child. He subdued her 
now as then. 

‘‘ Tell me of godmother,” she said with a change 
of tone. 

“ I have come,” replied Leonard, ‘‘ to take you 
to her. She hopes to keep you at Blackthorne until 
your mother claims you.” 

The opening of the door checked Dija’s reply. 
Two fair, curly heads appeared in the opening; 
four blue eyes looked inquiringly. * 

“Hallo,” said Jack politely, “ Lizzie-Bess wants 
to see you I ” 

“ You dears ! ” exclaimed Dija. “ Come right in.” 


A Maid of Mettle 


194 

They did so, and hand in hand crossed to the 
young lady with the laughing face. Leonard pre- 
sented them with mock gravity. Jack made his 
best bow. 

“It wasn’t much of a wreck — it didn’t drown 
anybody,” ho observed disappointedly. “ Myself 
was asleep. I should have been waked up. I 
should not have been afraid.” 

“ I don’t believe you would,” responded Dija, “ but 
that’s the way they served me when I was a child 
— had all the fun while I was in bed. But we’ll 
have a wreck on our own account some day and 
play at lifeboats — there’s a beautiful creek at Black- 
thorne.” 

“They don’t have no creeks in England,” sighed 
Jack; “they’re all streams and they go slow. 
Once when I felled in a creek ” 

“ To t’ome,” interjected Elizabeth, with a smile of 
recollection. 

“ She means ‘ at home,’ ” explained Jack. “ When 
her shoes are tight she calls them ‘ too fit ’ — she 
doesn’t know any better. My education is coming 
on. Leonard said ” 

But what Leonard said Dija did not learn just 
then, for the professor and Barbara came in. 

Dija in her impulsive fashion went over to Pro- 


Friends Old and New 


195 

fessor Humphries and apologized for turning his 
house upside down. 

“ I know I’ve disturbed you,” she added ; “ some- 
how I always seem to disturb everybody wherever 
I go — it’s a fate.” 

“Dear, dear,” murmured the professor with a 
little alarm in his tone. 

“We disturb him,” interposed Jack ; “he don’t 
let us live down-stairs ; we live up in the attic, an’ 
Barbara plays her fiddle in the cellar so that he 
can’t hear.” 

“ Jackie,” remonstrated Barbara with a red face. 

“ It ain’t the sheller,” corrected Elizabeth ; “ it’s 
the strong-room.” 

Leonard had engaged the professor in conversa- 
tion ; whether he had heard Jackie’s remarks or not 
was not evident. Ho one referred to them. Eliza- 
beth broke away and slipped her small hand con- 
fidently into her Uncle Keith’s hand. 

“ I’se goin’ to look shrew the telescope,” she 
affirmed. 

Dija had an uninterrupted hour with Barbara in 
the nursery. 

“It’s a jolly room,” she declared, for Barbara 
had transformed it. She tried the piano, then 
catching sight of Polly, whistled a duet Avith her, 


196 A Maid of Mettle 

but grew silent over the photographs of Australian 
scenes. 

“ Was this your home ? How lovely ! backed by 
mountain and forest and skirted by a stream — not 
going slow I Do you know I sometimes wish I had 
not seen it all — the life there spoils this. Before 
I returned I longed for England. To-day somehow 
I feel like an alien.” 

“ But what a home-coming it has been ! ” 

“ Ho, it isn’t that,” responded Dija, “ that wasn’t 
anything except a shock and a wetting — it is the 
spirit of something I miss — ^you know that lone- 
someness which creeps over you on the open plain 
when one watches the sun sink below the horizon, 
or when the last star of the Southern Cross disap- 
pears below the sea.” 

“ I know.” 

Dija pulled up shortly at the Ioav voice. 

“ That’s like me ! ” she declared in contrition, 
“ forgetting what it must have meant to you. It 
was your home. I’m always thinking about my- 
self,” continued Dija, “ and I know why I have the 
blues — shall I tell you ? ” 

“ Do.” 

“ I compare so disadvantageously with civilized 
people.” 


Friends Old and New 


197 


Barbara laughed. 

“ Do you mean that ” 

“ Ko I don’t I ” interrupted Dija. I don’t mean 
that at all. If 1 did, I should be a prig. You ought 
to know what I mean ; Australians are as educated as 
English girls but they’re not so glovey. There are 
the same ‘ musts,’ but not so many ‘ mustn’ts,’ ” ex- 
plained Dija in a fashion of her own, sitting in the 
chair where Barbara thought out her own puzzles. 
Nursing her knee, Dija continued, 

“I always hated the Ynustn’ts.’ I’m afraid I al- 
ways shall. For the last three years they have 
been crowded out by action.” 

“Then why not ” 

“ How you do interrupt, ” proceeded Dija. “ Of 
course I shall have to grind — if I don’t I shall ex- 
plode.” 

“I think you are exploding as it is,” remarked 
Barbara delightedly, sitting on the rug and looking 
into the face of her new friend with a sweet 
sense of companionship. Dija looked down ad- 
miringly. 

“ You’re a delicious girl,” she volunteered ; “ I 
thought you’d be a cat.” 

“Me? Why?” 

Barbara was too surprised for grammar. 


A Maid of Mettle 


198 

“ Oh, I did. I didn’t see how you could have no 
fun ever, and not be nasty about it.” 

“ But I do have fun. I had a glorious time.” 

Dija noted the past tense. 

“ You’re a jewel,” she declared, Leonard ad- 
mires your sort of girl ; godmother ought to 
worship you — she’s sure to throw you at my head, 
you’re so calm ! ” 

Barbara’s merry laugh broke out again. Dija 
showed her white teeth. 

“ I’m not so tempestuous as I used to be,” pro- 
ceeded Dija, ‘‘ I believe I’ve galloped some of it off. 
I thought it was self-command but I believe if I don’t 
have a horse I shall collapse. Do you ride often ? ” 

“I did.” 

Dija jumped up. 

‘‘What! hasn’t anybody thought of it? Not 
Leonard — well I do call him ” 

“You mustn’t call him anything,” exclaimed 
Barbara, rising and speaking hurriedly. “ If you 
knew how kind he has been ; we have been no end 
of trouble.” 

“And quite right — but I don’t believe you. 

Never to think of a horse ! I didn’t think 

Leonard was so mawkish. You shouldn’t be so 
sentimental — you ought to ask for things.” 



Barbara Sat on the Rug and Looked Into the Face of Her New Friend 
WITH a Sweet Sense of Companionship 




















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Friends Old and New 


199 


“ But Dija ” 

“ Of course you should. People are charmed to 
lend things — and if they’re not they should be, and 
it would serve them right to be made to look mean. 
It’s a .compliment to use people’s things — shows 
you like ’em.” 

This was a new version of the rights of owner- 
ship. 

‘‘You’re too meek; that’s what’s the matter with 
you. Have you ever had a big wish of your 
own ? ” 

“ Too big for attainment.” 

Dija’s expression showed understanding. 

“ I can’t talk of it please,” continued Barbara, 
turning away rather hurriedly. Dija felt a return 
of her first respect for the self-contained nature. 
The girl was strong though still; she grew quiet 
by contact. Her own manner changed ; she spoke 
with quiet words. 

“ I know. But I’m not like you — I couldn’t give 
it up.” 

“ Perhaps there is no reason why you should.” 

“ There was not. But if there was ? Ho,” 

reiterated Dija, “ I couldn’t let go — I couldn’t 
serve. Since I can remember I have wanted to 
will and to rule. I want so still. But not in the 


200 


A Maid of Mettle 


way I did. I was obstinate and self-willed and dis- 
obedient ; it was my ignorant way of self-assertion. 
I know better now, but my ambition is the same. 
I want to conquer just as much as ever I did — but 
by different means. I couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t 
be triumphed over. I must triumph — I will. I 
will work, and work, to do one thing well ; one 
thing by which I can win. I know all that it Avill 
mean — Mr. Fosbrey has shown me. But it is 
worth everything to have power.” 

Her dark eyes met the gentle gaze of Barbara. 
She bent impulsively forward and kissed the girl. 

“ You’re like Leonard,” she said ; “ you make one 
speak the truth. And — you see I’m not going 
to have you stewing up here and imposed upon — 
you’re a dear ! ” 

****** 

With Pija’s departure for Blackthorne, quiet 
settled down upon Greystone Lodge. The room 
under the eaves fell into shadow while Barbara sat 
and thought. Her heart was light with the uplift- 
ing of her loneliness — Dija had come. The manner 
of her coming, the night of fear merged into the day 
of interest, and all the love and expectation attend- 
ant on the girl, seemed natural and right. It ap- 
peared that Dija created an atmosphere wherever 


Friends Old and New 


201 


she went. Even Mrs. Grim by had not resented the 
invasion. Eules and regulations were forgotten. 
With her going Barbara felt lonely. She had in- 
stinctively yielded to Dija the first place. 

When she went down to dinner the professor 
looked at her animated face attentively. He was 
silent during the meal, and when Barbara rose he 
followed her into the drawing-room. He looked as 
though he noted the flowers and the shaded lights. 
At length he said, “ It is dull for you, my dear.” 

“ Oh, no. Uncle Keith, I do not find it so — you 
see I am occupied.” 

“ Ah ! But why do you practice on your violin 
in the strong-room ? ” 

Barbara crimsoned. So he had heard Jack’s re- 
mark. 

“ I feared to disturb you,” she faltered ; then with 
the memory of Dija’s words in her heart that to 
achieve meant, perhaps, the sacrifice of all else, she 
said, with earnest eyes upon his face, 

“Uncle Keith, your work is sacred — it means 
something to the world. My fiddle will never 
mean anything to anybody except to me.” 

She bowed her head over her work ; the click of 
her busy needles was the only sound in the 


room. 


202 


A Maid of Mettle 


No protest that she could have made, no asser- 
tion would have touched the man — whose life had 
been one long self-spending for his work’s sake — 
like this renunciation did. 


CHAPTER XII 


JACKIE’S DEBUT 

Blacktiiorne looked its best in the autumn 
Avhen the picturesque old house was framed with 
red and yellow creepers, and its beauty appealed to 
Dija anew. 

“ It is lovelier than I remembered,” she said, en- 
thusiastically, and its gray-haired mistress smiled. 
She watched her goddaughter with approval — she 
had feared that three years’ freedom from restraint 
would only prove disastrous, but she noted the 
new gracefulness of movement, the subdued tones 
of voice, the something indefinite that was Hija, 
yet still not Dija. 

The old house was full of memories for the girl ; 
she wandered from room to room, trying to recall 
her old impressions, but she could not fit herself 
into the past moods. 

“ I was horrid,” she declared, recalling the scenes 
of her rebellion. She felt the difference in herself 
most in the company of Leonard — or had he 
changed ? 


203 


204 


A Maid of Mettle 


“I hope he has forgotten that I asked him to 
marry me,” she thought. “ The friends of one’s 
childhood remember so much against one.” 

If Leonard recollected he made no sign, closely 
as Dija observed him. 

“ He always was a thoroughbred,” she declared ; 
“ even when I behaved abominably, he treated me 
with courtesy.” 

If Leonard missed the old spontaneity, he found 
a new interest in Dija. After the first strangeness 
wore off, she slipped into a new comradeship, which 
although it had its reserves, had its surprises too. Her 
judgment had matured, her insight was keener, and 
she had a prompt manner of coming to a conclusion 
which showed she had been trained, consciously or 
unconsciously, to think, and to act upon her thought. 

Mrs. Hettlethorpe did not come down to Black- 
thorne as at first intended. Mr. Hettlethorpe Avas 
too unAvell to leaA^e just then, she wrote. A sudden 
chill had prostrated him, and, under the circum- 
stances, she was glad for Dija to bo with her god- 
mother. Mr. Fosbrey, Avho had gone on Avith the 
ship to London, had been to see her, she added, Avith 
Myrn — who had joined his father after a couple of 
days— and she had been glad to have the oppor- 
tunity of thanking him for all his kindness and 


Jackie’s Debut 


205 


care. He had assured her that Dija was well. “ I 
am longing to see my great girl,” she concluded, 
“ but it is wiser not, yet.” 

“ Mummy dreads me a bit,” she said to Leonard 
half wistfully, half laughingly, as he handed back 
the letter Dija had given him to read. 

He smiled at her curiously. 

“That means no wonder!” pursued Dija, then 
she smiled herself. “ Poor little mother ! she was 
always so small and sweet — and dependent. I be- 
lieve she married Mr. Hettlethorpe to protect her- 
self from me.” 

“ Perhaps ! ” 

“ I wonder what her plans are for me ? ” she con- 
tinued, a shade of anxiety clouding the truthful 
eyes she turned to her companion. 

This was a return of her old confidential mood 
and he did not check it. It was the first time she 
had spoken of herself personally in the week since 
her return. She had told tales of adventure, tales 
of Fanny and Betty ; spoken often of Myrn and his 
ambitions ; of Mr. Fosbrey and of the ways of Sa- 
maritan — who had returned more disreputable in 
appearance than he went away, and with a decided 
love of sport, spending most of his time in trying 
to force an entrance into rabbit burrows. 


2o6 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ What plans have you for yourself ? ” he asked, 
perhaps thinking there was more likelihood of those 
she formed coming into effect than those made for 
her by Mrs. Nettlethorpe. 

“ Girton,” she answered tersely. 

They were walking under the thinning chestnuts 
at the time, the slanting sunrays shining full in her 
face. lie met her resolute look ; his brows con- 
tracted. He saw a vision of hardening features, 
ungraceful garments; all the most unattractive 
points of Dija’s character emphasized. He had im- 
agined Dija in many parts, but Dija the self-asser- 
tive blue stocking, never. He had the prejudice of 
the class to whom his mother belonged. 

Dija understood his expression. She put her 
hand on his arm. 

Don’t you oppose me, Leonard. Everybody 
else is sure to oppose — except perhaps Mr. Hettle- 
thorpe — he has sense. I could always count on 
you — once.” 

“ But, child, there is no need for you to slave.” 

“ Knowledge is power,” she answered with such 
strange emphasis and expression that he was at a 
loss how to reply. 

“ There are different sorts of knowledge, as there 
are different kinds of power,” he said presently, 


Jackie’s Debut 


207 

“ and the woman who fills her station well is well 
educated.’’ 

“ You mean I don’t belong to the class of girls 
who are obliged to earn their own living? I al- 
most wish I did — I call it glorious to be under no 
obligation — not even for an inherited income. 
Look at your life now — what do you do with it ? ” 

Leonard stroked his moustache. The onslaught 
was so unexpected that a tinge of color crept under 
his tan. 

He had often taken Dija to task for deficiencies ; 
it was a new experience to be taken to task by her. 
He was shorter than her ideal. 

“ You have a lovely time ! ” she declared. 

“ I do,” he admitted, but if I didn’t some other 
fellow would. If you round on me,” he added, ‘‘ I 
shall call it mean — I’m not so idle as you suppose ; 
the way I’ve fagged in your orders for eight days 
past has exhausted all energy for argument. Here 
are the horses — up you jump ! Miss Clare Avill be 
waiting for us.” 

“ She sits her horse well,” said Mrs. Harper to 
herself, watching the departure from the drawing- 
room window ; “ she is greatly improved.” 

Barbara found her days at this time slipped by too 
quickly. A spell of Indian summer weather made 


2o8 


A Maid of Mettle 


riding and driving delightful, and Dija had so many 
plans that the demand on Barbara’s time was 
greater than she could meet. To do so she let go 
some of those domestic matters which she had vol- 
untarily taken upon her shoulders. The professor 
retired like an oyster into his shell. Jackie was 
often the guest of Mr. Barton, and Elizabeth, de- 
serted by her brother — in a way she only could have 
explained — got admittance into the study. She 
fell into the ways of her silent companion and 
seldom disturbed him after her first low-down tap 
and smiling information, “ I’s goin’ to stay along 
with you.” She would sit for hours curled up be- 
side him on a rug, playing with wonderful toys he 
gave her. She took an eerie fancy to the skull, to 
which she would talk in whispers. “ Haven’t you 
got no eyes, an’ no nose, an’ no teeth, you poor, 
poor thing ? ” To his own surprise, the professor 
one day reached down his coveted treasure and 
placed it in her lap. After that it was a usual 
thing for her to cover the skull in a shawl and rock 
it to sleep. 

These hours inevitably ended with the micro- 
scope. 

The child insisted upon saying her prayers to 
“ Uncle Humfy,” as she called him, so every even- 


Jackie’s Debut 


209 

ing the professor climbed to the top story to hear 
the petition to “ pity her, simple Lizzie.” 

If Barbara was not there — which happened 
rarely — he loitered to hear the children’s tales, and 
once Jack told him with an air of great mystery 
that he wasn’t deceitful, but Mr. Barton had told 
him he would tell the professor himself that he was 
going to give a party at which he. Jack, was to 
sing, but it was a great secret, and until Mr. Barton 
knew the professor’s wishes, it couldn’t be done ; 
but until it was done, Jackie had made a promise 
not to sing to any one but Mr. Barton. 

In due time the invitations were received, and the 
professor accepted for himself and his young peo- 
ple. Barbara was thrown into a state of mingled 
delight and consternation — what should she wear? 
There had been no evening dresses among the 
simple mourning costumes she had brought, and she 
was faced with the problem which had more than 
once troubled her lately — money. 

It did not seem to occur to the professor that 
there was any need for money. Her father’s affairs 
had not been settled, and Barbara did not know 
whether she and the little ones were dependent 
upon their uncle, or whether they would have an 
income of their own. Their father’s solicitor in 


210 


A Maid of Mettle 


Brisbane had arranged for their journey; since 
then there had been no communication. Barbara 
had duly reported their safe arrival, but she had re- 
ceived as yet no reply, and was in ignorance 
whether the station was sold and they were rich, or 
otherwise. 

The professor had handed her Mr. Barton’s note. 
She took it into the nursery and stood with it in 
her hand looking out at Mr. Barton’s gables. Till 
now, the only member of their family who had 
seemed to interest him was Jack, and Barbara had 
wished so often to enter Greystone House. 

During the morning Dija came in. She wanted 
to talk about the party. 

“It’s to be a real grown-up affair,” she said. 
“Jackie is to be the only child; godmother says 
Myrn and Mr. Fosbrey are asked ; also mummy and 
Mr. Nettle thorpe, but they can’t come because Mr. 
Nettlethorpe is worse. And there are to be several 
crack musicians.” 

“ What are you going to wear ? ” asked Barbara 
in a subdued tone, conscious of her limited choice. 

“ Something white,” answered Dija breezily, quite 
free from the anxiety of the other girl. “Mummy 
and godmother will see to that — it will be sent 
from London I expect.” 


Jackie’s D^but 


21 


This part of the programme did not appear to 
give Dija a thought. Her clothes had always been 
tliere when required, to suit every occasion. 

“Mr. Barton dined at Blackthorne last night,” 
continued Dija ; “ he’s going up to London soon and 
has invited us all to a big concert at the Queen’s 
Hall next month. Godmother talks of going — if 
so, you are to go also.” 

“It is impossible!” cried Barbara with a flush 
of excitement and longing. “ There are the chil- 
dren and — other things.” 

The “ other things ” recurred after Dija had 
gone. What should she do for a dress, and shoes, 
and gloves ? 

. She could not even hint her difficulty to any one. 
The white dresses that she had, had all been 
washed, and were high-necked — altogether unsuit- 
able. 

She went into her bedroom disconsolately, and 
searched through her wardrobe. There was noth- 
ing that would do. Her shoes were all a little 
rubbed, her gloves had all been worn, her muslins 
starched. What should she do ? What could she 
do? 

The tears forced themselves into her bright eyes. 
If she made any excuse for not going, she would be 


212 


A Maid of Mettle 


compelled to confess her difficulty, still she could not 
go without a proper gown ; it would bring discredit 
upon her uncle. Yet to ask him for money ap- 
peared an awful thing. In her dilemma her eyes 
fell upon a trunk she had not opened for years. It 
contained things belonging to her mother. 

In a moment she had found the key and was on 
her knees unlocking the trunk. With eager hands 
she lifted first one garment, then another, from the 
trays. The faint perfume of dried roses, the sight of 
the treasured garments, brought back a rush of 
tender memory, but she forced back enervating re- 
gret and “ faced fact.” Time would unravel the 
future — she should know certainly in what position 
she stood. To-day she needed a dress. 

She found a soft creamy shawl of crepe de chine 
and a long fringed scarf of silk. With these she 
felt sure she could fashion a frock. She had made 
most of her own clothes for a long time. She had 
a pattern of a simple Empire gown somewhere, and 
the long, soft scarf was just the thing for the sash. 
There were her mother’s pearls too. She unlocked 
the case and fastened the string round her neck to 
try the effect — that was a matter to be decided 
later ; she thought a girl of sixteen looked better 
without jewels. 


Jackie’s D^but 


213 


Jackie bad a velveteen suit as yet unAvorn, this 
with a Vandyke collar of old lace and buckled shoes 
would make a picture of him, Barbara declared. 
But all the time Barbara sewed at her frock she 
puzzled over her shoes and gloves. It came to the 
morning of the party and the matter was still a 
puzzle. At last she decided she must ask her uncle 
for some money. 

She approached the study door with a quickly 
beating heart — it Avas hateful. At that moment it 
seemed a heavy price to pay for the party and its 
prospective delights. An envious thought of Dija 
Avhose “ things Avould be sent from London,” 
crossed her mind ; then in a sort of desperation she 
knocked. 

“ Come in.” 

The professor rose when she entered. His pale, 
serious face lit Avith something like pleasure. Bar- 
bara’s checks flushed, but she Avent straight to the 
point. 

“ Mr. Barton’s party is to-night. Uncle Keith.” 

“ Thank you, ray dear, for the reminder.” 

A slight pause. 

“ I have no shoes suitable,” she faltered. The 
professor looked puzzled. It was not her habit to 
refer to him on matters of dress, nor on other small 


A Maid of Mettle 


214 

matters. She was such an excellent manager. 
Half laughing and half crying, Barbara lifted her 
eyes. 

“ I have no money,” she said, as though the con- 
fession was one of shame. 

But it brought the slow color to the professor’s 
cheeks. He understood her humiliation by his 
own. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said presentl}^ It was 
the first moment he had thought she had need of 
any. Mrs. Grimby managed all the shopping. The 
children had been clothed. 

He looked greatly distressed. After Barbara 
had been relieved of her anxiety, he walked up and 
down his study restlessly. 

“Must she be told?” he asked himself. “I 
hoped to shield her from the knowledge, at least for 
the present.” 

* * * * * 

The windows of Greystone House shone brightly 
among the trees — the hall door stood invitingly 
open, as a small child and a big dog slipped through 
the gate. 

They were uninvited guests and they knew it. 
Lizzie-Bess was supposed to be in bed and his Ma j- 
esty keeping guard, but Lizzie-Bess had informed 


Jackie’s Debut 


215 


his Majesty, “ I will dress myself, an’ I will go and 
see ze queen, an’ I will tell ze queen that my little 
s’helf is all alone, an’ ze dear queen will say to 
me, ‘ Pore little Lizzie-Bess, I do’ like you to be all 
alone.’ ” 

And so resolved, she had slipped out of bed and 
fastened on her clothes in front as best she could 
and made for the door. Mrs. Grim by in contented 
ignorance sat at supper with Mr. Grirnby in the 
kitchen when the oddly dressed child went out at 
the side door. 

But her Majesty lived a long way olf in a great 
castle — somewhere. Somewhere was not inacces- 
sible to the child’s mind. There were roads, and 
roads took you there, wherever it was. Besides, 
his Majesty always knew the way. It was his 
Majesty who turned in at Mr. Barton’s gate — Lizzie- 
Bess only followed. 

Inside was light and laughter. The large draw- 
ing-room was crowded with people, for none had 
refused the invitation of the famous violinist. He 
had never been known to give a party before ; he 
rarely went to one. His brusque manner, his isolated 
private life made his admirers curious. All they 
knew of him was the public man who charmed his 
audience— then retired ; who appeared at the calls 


2i6 


A Maid of Mettle 


of his art, then disappeared. It was delightful for 
those present to have discovered where. His re- 
treat was evidently an old house in an old town by 
the sea, little heard of in modern times. Its his- 
tory, like that of Joseph Barton, was in the past. 

The music, or drawing-room, where the musician 
received his guests, was a large room opening with 
French windows to a glassed-in terrace or ‘‘ winter 
garden” which led to the garden proper. Two or 
three rooms had been utilized to make this hand- 
some room, and where partitions had been were 
pillars supporting the original arched roof. 

This was one of the desecrations which had 
offended the ideas of the professor to whom ancient 
ugliness and discomfort were preferable to modern 
elegance. 

‘‘ It’s a beautiful room,” exclaimed Dija delight- 
edly, and, oblivious of everybody, passed from statue 
to picture, from unique model to the photograph of 
the inventor. 

“ Oh ! ” she cried, pulling Mr. Barton unceremo- 
niously by the coat sleeve as he passed by, “ why 
didn’t you tell me ?— it’s a room of the nineteenth 
century.” He looked at the slender white-frocked 
girl before him with a pleasant smile on his plain 
face. “ I call it ‘ scrumptious,’ ” continued Dija, ‘‘ a 


Jackie’s D^but 


217 


lovely idea — there’s not a work of art, not a photo- 
graph, not anything in the room that does not illus- 
trate the greatness of the present time. I could 
just live here ; the room’s a clarion-call to advance- 
ment ! What does Professor Humphries think ? 
He believes that every interest is with the past.” 
They turned to look at the archaBologist, who was 
talking in an animated fashion to his niece. 

“ All ? ” queried Mr. Barton with his head on one 
side quizzically, “ quite all ? ” 

‘‘ Barbara,” responded Dija, “ is just that reflec- 
tion of her great-great-grandmother which the pro- 
fessor loves.” 

“ The unaging spirit of womanhood ? I under- 
stand.” 

Mr. Barton went to talk to another of his guests. 
Dija stood for a moment where he had left her. 
She stood, quite unconscious of the admiring 
glances cast at herself, and admired the other girl 
who looked just like what Mr. Barton had said, a 
spirit of ancient womanhood, in her simple quaint 
dress. 

Myrn approached her unnoticed. In his dress- 
suit he looked so unlike the Myrn of the sheep 
station, with top boots and soft felt hat, that when 
she drew her eyes from the contemplation of 


2i8 


A Maid of Mettle 


Barbara, she let them slowly travel from the beard- 
less, bronzed face to the patent-leather boots. 

She dropped him a mock courtesy. “ Dr. Myrn 
Fosbrey of the future — if he doesn’t get plucked,” 
she said. 

He threw back his head wdth the laugh Dija 
liked. “Who’s going to get plucked?” he an- 
swered with a shade of resentment in his voice. “ I 
bet in five or six years’ time I’ll have a practice of 
my own. It’s shoddy of you to talk of being 
plucked — you see.” 

“Well, you don’t know. You’ll have to grind. 
When do you start for Edinburgh ? ” 

“Hext week.” 

“ I like the look of you,” remarked Dija with the 
freedom and easiness of intimate association, “ but 
it would be a pity if you turned into a dandy — 
some boys do.” 

“It would be a pity if you turned into a prig,” 
retorted Myrn hotly. He had rather admired him- 
self in his dress-suit, and Dija’s first approval had 
been pleasant. But that was the worst of Dija — 
she never let you remain pleased with yourself very 
long. 

“ You didn’t expect me to come to a party in my 
shirt sleeves, did you?” he continued, “or in a 


Jackie’s Debut 


219 


Maori hat ? ” lie was still rnflled at her suggestion 
that his medical course might end ignominiously. 
He had, with the enthusiasm of twenty, carved out 
a great career for himself — in imagination. It was 
damping to a fellow’s spirits to *hear the girl who 
knew you best expressing doubts. 

“ Myrn Fosbrey,” said Dija in her most grown-up 
manner, “ be a gentleman — whether you are plucked 
or not.” 

Myrn looked after her as she walked away. She 
still wore her hair down her back, but she had 
snubbed him. They had quarreled often before, 
but somehow it had never struck like this — not 
when she had called him “a mullet-headed fish” 
and other insulting terms. He had been master of 
the situation in the Australian bush. There had 
never been a scrape of her making from Avhich he 
had not possessed the knowledge to extricate her ; 
he had been hero of many hair-breadth ’scapes ; he 
had commanded attention by the power he pos- 
sessed. Here, in this new atmosphere — Dija’s true 
atmosphere — he might not dominate her any more 

until ? He thought it out, leaning against a 

pillar in the winter garden — until he had won 
dominion in the intellectual world. 

Dija was fond of quoting that knowledge was 


220 


A Maid of Mettle 


power. Knowledge must fit the circumstance to be 
of use. His knowledge was of another country, 
other conditions. 

“ No,” he atfirmed, after a long pause, ‘‘ I will not 
be plucked.” 

“ Why didn’t you come and speak to me ? ” asked 
a sweet voice by his side. Barbara held out her 
hand ; Myrn took it almost gratefully. He drew a 
seat for her and sat down beside her and the}^ were 
soon deep in talk. At least Myrn was ; half fear- 
fully, at first, he referred to the time ahead and said 
almost savagely that he wasn’t going to fail, if 
he knew it. Barbara noticed a strong resemblance 
to Mr. Fosbrey just then. He was standing near, 
talking to the professor. 

“Fail? Why should you?” asked Barbara. 
“You’re not the sort.” 

“ Thank you,” he replied, just before a stir in the 
company heralded to Barbara what was to her the 
great fact of the evening. 

“ Hush,” she said, “ Mr. Barton is going to play.” 

The man of short stature, with one movement of 
his bow across the strings, commanded all present. 
His dark eyes wandered round the room till they 
found Barbara ; then his chin sank lovingly upon his 
instrument ; his eyes closed and for the next half- 


Jackie’s D^but 


221 


hour his listeners were entranced. When it was 
over, Barbara still sat in a dream into which Jackie 
seemed to walk. Mr. Barton had taken possession 
of him on first arrival, and since then he had been 
out of sight and mind, but Mr. Barton led him to a 
space beside the piano where the lad stood intently 
watching the musician who played a few soft bars 
upon his instrument, and then — Jackie was singing. 

But was it Jackie? Barbara rose in agitation 
from her seat. Yes, it was her own little lad, sing- 
ing like a lark, his blue eyes fixed upon his tutor’s 
face, undismayed by the strangers clustering about, 
unconscious of anything save his own glad- 
ness. 

This, then, was the meaning of Mr. Barton’s party 
— it was Jackie’s debut. 

The long visits to Greystone House were ex- 
plained, as well as Mr. Barton’s reserve upon the sub- 
ject, and his apparent unsociableness to the rest of the 
family, for he had not once included anybody else in 
the invitations. All these months he had been train, 
ing the songster who had been so obediently without 
song in the home-cage. But how would Professor 
Humphries take it ? Evidently well. Barbara was 
ignorant of two things which had occurred within 
the week — a letter from her father’s solicitor to her 


222 A Maid of Mettle 

uncle and a conversation between him and Joseph 
Barton. 

When she joined the professor, she saw that the 
hand resting on Mrs. Harper’s chair-back was trem- 
bling. His sunken eyes looked anxiously from face 
to face. He knew the men and women there were 
chiefly of the musical world — he saw surprise and 
pleasure on every face. 

“ Professor,” said Mrs. Harper in her gracious 
way, “I congratulate you. A voice like your 
nephew’s is a rare gift — but he is a member of a 
gifted family.” 

Catching sight of his old friend, the lad crossed 
quickly to her side, quite unconscious that he was 
the subject of the animated conversation in the 
room. 

“Myself has got my best clothes on,” he an- 
nounced. “ I may not stay to supper ; I am too 
small. When I am sixteen and not six, Mr. Barton 
says I may stay to supper. Bread and milk and 
fruit is best for small boys.” 

He lifted his sweet face to the face of the gentle 
old lady who bent over him, to be kissed “ good- 
night.” As Mrs. Harper’s hand caressed the golden 
head, she wondered how many failures and triumphs 
the future that she would not see, held for the spon- 


Jackie’s Debut 


223 

taneous little songster of to-niglit. Jackie turned, 
then stood still in astonishment. 

“Why, there’s Lizzie-Bess ! ” he exclaimed. 

The group near the terrace turned as one. 

There was Lizzie-Bess. She stood on the top step 
at an open French window, partly dressed, with a 
white silk shawl trailing behind, and a great dog 
beside her. She wrinkled her nose in a half-nervous 
smile as she looked at her nearest and dearest. “ I 
have not come to ze party,” she declared ; “ I was 
going to ze queen, but his Majesty doesn’t know ze 
way. Ze dear queen wouldn’t like me to be left by 
my s’helf.” 

Dija laughingly sprang forward, and before the 
unrehearsed tableau had been witnessed by any 
save those near the door, exclaimed, “ You darling 
mite. I’ll go with you ! ” and throwing the trailing 
shawl round the little figure, lifted her and carried 
her by the way she had come. 

As Dija entered the hall of Greystone Lodge with 
her nestling burden, Mrs. Grimby, with a frightened 
face, was hurrying to the door. She held up her 
hands with an exclamation of relief. 

“ Law, Miss Dija, I’ve had such a turn ! I left 
Miss Lizzie-Bess sleepin’, as I thought, an’ while me 
an’ Grimby was havin’ a bit of supper, she cut an’ 


224 


A Maid of Mettle 


run. They’ll be the death of me— them two ! ex- 
perimentalezin’ an’ explorizin’ for all the world like 
the master— must get at the origination of every- 
thing. Tell ’um a thing is so an’ so, an’ they ask 
‘ why ; ’ tell ’um why, an’ they wants to know what 
for — an’ they never will see any reason for bein’ 
left out of anything. Come now. Miss Lizzie-Bess, 
an’ let me put you back to bed. If you don’t catch 
your death of cold, it’s a mercy.” 

Two protesting feet, wearing odd shoes, kicked out 
from Dija’s arms. 

“ I’ll take her up,” said Dija. 

As she sat by the child’s bed, holding a soft, 
clinging hand and watching the drowsy eyes close, 
her thoughts went back to Blue Kock and the picca- 
ninny found in the bush ; of her championship and 
the vexation of Fanny and Betty ; of Myrn’s cham- 
pionship of her on all occasions, whether she were 
in the right or wrong. And to-night she had hurt 
him — and he was a stranger, theguest of her friends. 
He had never forgotten the courtesy due to a guest 
in his far-away home. Why did she like to hurt 
people ? It was true that she did ; there were times 
when it gave her positive satisfaction to ruffle and 
wound and dismay. Even Betty— and she had never 
loved any girl like Betty — but Betty had resented 


Jackie’s D^but 225 

it. In the end, Betty had not been sorry when the 
time came to part. 

“ I understand it now,’’ said Dija ; “ I demand 
too much. I expect those I love to love only me ; 
to have my thoughts and my ways, and let me ab- 
sorb them entirely. And I have no right — no right 
at all, because my ways and thoughts are only mine, 
and other people have as much right to think and 
act as I.” 

As she drove home to Blackthorne in Leonard’s 
dog-cart, she was very silent. Mr. Fosbrey and 
Leonard were on the front seat ; Myrn sat with her 
at the back. The night was still and starlit, and ^ 
her thoughts went back to other nights under the 
Southern Cross. “ Myrn,” she said presently, “ I 
discouraged you to-night. Forgive me, dear. It 
was hateful of me to do it — but I know why. I am 
discouraged myself. I feel that I am slipping into 
bondage, the bondage of a girl who may not act, 
and when I thought of you being a man with noth- 
ing to hinder your career except, by chance, your 
own self, for a wicked moment I thought it pos- 
sible you would ” 

‘‘ What, chuck it up ? ” 

“ Something of that.” 

“ And you were hoping it ? ” 


226 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Just then.” 

“ I call it low down — for a chum.” 

“ It was. Horrid low down.” 

“But I didn’t see any sense in it,” grumbled 
JVIyrn. 

“ There isn’t,” retorted Dija ; “ but for a minute I 
hated you for being a man with the chances of life 
on your side.” 

“ You’re the rummiest girl I ever knew,” declared 
Myrn. “Do you know, old fellow,” he resumed 
confidentially, “ I always thought you’d have made 
a ripping boy. I call it thundering rough,” he 
sympathized ; “ you hate everything girls like ; you 
ride, shoot, fish, and show as much pluck as any 
chap of your age — and you’ve got to be a woman. 
How there’s Barbara ! she’s the sort of girl 
that doesn’t mind it. She makes you feel that if 
she hadn’t been a girl, things would have been in a 
mess.” 

Dija thought out this left-handed but well-meant 
compliment quietly. “ Goosy-gander ! ” was all she 
said, but she thought, “ Even Myrn sees it — a girl 
who doesn’t like being a girl, isn’t a proper 
girl.” 

But the test of whether she was or was not in her 
right place was soon to come. 


Jackie’s Debut 


227 

On their entrance into the hall the old man- 
servant handed Dija a telegram. 

“ Come at once,” she read ; “ Mr. Nettlethorpe is 


CHAPTER XIII 


A WINTER OF DISCONTENT 

It was a day in early January. Leonard Harper 
sat in his smoking-room at Blackthorne reading a 
letter. 

“Three months have passed since Mr. Nettle- 
thorpe died,” wrote Dija. “ The awfullest, dreariest, 
melancholyist months ! but mother is as sad as she 
was at the first. Nothing will rouse her. I believe 
if I behaved in the most astonishing way, she would 
just say, ‘ Do as you please, dear,’ and look at me 
with those sad eyes. But what can a girl do when 
a mother, much smaller and gentler and more un- 
happy than herself, says, ‘ Do as you please ’ ? It 
doesn’t please her to be a brute ” 

“ I knew it wouldn’t,” interjected Leonard, 
smoothing out the page as though he were stro- 
king Dija’s hair. 

“ and so I ‘ domesticate ’ myself to the cir- 

cumstances, but it’s making a horrid hypocrite of 
me ! I shall turn into a mewling, tabby-catty thing 

who sits on the hearth-rug and blinks into the fire 
228 


A Winter of Discontent 229 

and purrs. That’s what I shall turn into I and all 
ray friends will say : 

^ Hove the poor pussy, . . . 

And if I don't hurt her 

She'll do me no harm.' 

“ But it’s all shara, sham, SHAM. I could 
scratch — not mother, of course ! She couldn’t 
help Mr. Hettlethorpe’s dying, but if mummy 
hadn’t married ' him (a la Jackie) she wouldn’t 
have missed him now. 

‘‘ ‘ He had a great blow, and he sank under it,’ 
mother said, but what sort of blow I don’t under- 
stand — I thought he died of a chill. Anyhow, I 
think it a bit mawkish for a man to go down under 
a blow, don’t you? I wouldn’t say this to any 
one but you for worlds. But mother married him 
for support, and I couldn’t imagine Mr. Hettle- 
thorpe being knocked over by anything except dis- 
grace. And, of course, the blow wasn’t disgrace. 
But it is rough on mother. She is wretched, and 
it isn’t all loneliness ; she looks and looks at me in 
a piteous sort of way as though she were scared of 
me. If I am quiet, or speak abruptly, she almost 
trembles and asks me what is the matter, so I 
modulate my voice, move about quietly, and talk 
about things I’m not interested in. Barbara 


A Maid of Mettle 


230 

couldn’t do it better — but it is real to her. As I 
tell you — to me it is sham. Some folk are born to 
meekness ; others have it thrust upon them. Those 
who keep it up are heroes. I used to think a hero 
was one who dared magnificently in a large defiance 
of existing circumstance. But to keep cool and 
calm outwardly when you’re boiling over inwardly 
— well, you try it ! A thoroughgoing hypocrite 
suffers more mortification than a saint, for a saint 
enjoys being martyred, and a hypocrite doesn’t. I 
don’t. No college — no anything but keys and 
shopping, and softness and sentiment. It is so un- 
expected. Mother says she has no one to lean on 
now but me, and if I failed her she would be alone. 
But I shall fail — I always do.” 

Leonard lifted his eyes from the written page 
and looked out at the wintry sky without noting 
the gathering snow-clouds. “ I do not think that 
you will fail,” he said ; “ but your triumphs will be 
of another sort than those you desire. There is 
trouble near. Nettlethorpe, as I feared, has made 
a muddle.” 

He turned again to Dija’s letter. 

“ The house is so quiet to-night ; mother is asleep. 
She looks, as she lies among the pillows, quite 
young — but, oh I so sad. As I stood and watched 


A Winter of Discontent 231 

her, a big ache ‘came into my throat ’ like Jackie’s 

‘sing.’ Leonard, you won’t laugh, will you ? 

I felt that I was the mother and she the child ; that 
I wanted to fight things for her, and keep harm and 
worry away from her — with just about as much 
chance as Canute had with the sea ! But I under- 
stood how my father felt about her — that he must 
rule, yet cherish her. I’m almost a woman now, 
and I know why I was angry when mother married 
again; why I wanted to get away and not to see 
mother and Mr. Nettlethorpe. I resented in my 
heart that any but a Danvers could make her care. 
And I’m angry still. It doesn’t seem that Mr. Net- 
tlethorpe had any right to come into her life and 
disturb it, either to live for her or to die, and while 
I was wandering about the house to-night (my 
father’s house) I knew all in a moment why I hated 
coming home ; it was because a man, not my father, 
was master here. This is the wicked truth. ‘ After 
God the King ’ sort of feeling, isn’t it ? 

“ I am as much surprised at the turn of events as 
a little chicken must when its soft down disappears 
and an odd, queer little feather sticks out here and 
there, leaving bare, bald patches. All Jluffiness 
lias disappeared from things and me, and only a de- 
cided idea appears here and there. Is tliis transi- 


A Maid of Mettle 


232 

tion ? Do boys ever feel neither boys nor men— as 
girls feel neither girls nor women ? How lovely to 
be a full-grown fowl evenly covered with feathers ! 
(Read feathers for ideas and characteristics.) 

****** 

“ Myrn writes from Edinburgh that he is ‘ slog- 
ging’ — but he seems to be having a tremendous 
time. Mr. Fosbrey — Leonard, I miss him so — is 
traveling. ‘ I move on slowly from place to place,’ 
he writes, ‘ and find the old world as of old ; but, 
go where I will, the illusion of youth is missing 
from the scene. Eyes fifty years old see nothing 
but reality. And youth makes the reality of age.’ 

“ Ever yours, 

“ Dija. 

“ P. S. — It is snowing. 

“ Di. 

“ P. P. S. — I wonder how ‘ the kiddies ’ will like 
it ; they have never seen the snow. I used to yearn 
for it in Queensland, but here I feel like the Irish- 
man who said how much more enjoyable it would 
be to have the cold weather in summer and the hot 
weather in winter. 

D.” 

****** 
While Leonard answered his letter from Black- 


A Winter of Discontent 


233 

tliorne, Earbara, in the nursery at Grey stone Lodge 
wrote also. 

“ Du A, Deae, — It isn’t true that I find writing 
to you a bore, but there is so little news. From 
Blackthorne you hear first hand, and there seems 
little of interest to tell. Mr. Barton, as you know, 
is away, and Grey stone House is in the care of his 
hunchback servant. Jackie, bereft of his friend, is 
restless and unsettled. It is wonderful the interest 
Mr. Barton takes in Jackie, and the influence he 
exerts over the lad. ‘ Mr. Barton ses so ’ has be- 
come a sort of text. While he is away, Jackie is 
not to sing, ‘Mr. Barton ses.’ Heedless to say, 
Jackie does not. 

“Did I tell you about my fiddle? Well, it was 
unearthed with me one afternoon. At Uncle 
Keith’s request, Mr. Barton heard me play. It was 
an awful ordeal, but I did it. When things have 
to be done, it is no use making a fuss. And 
how simple genius is — so lacking in affectation. 
Mr. Barton listened quite quietly. ‘ Played with 
taste and precision,’ he summed up. ‘ You would, 
with practice, teach well,’ he said. I used to think 
him ugly, but when he said that, his face was beau- 
tiful with kindness. For he had guessed something 


A Maid of Mettle 


234 

I thought no one knew— that I hoped— well, never 
mind, I never could talk about it. The fact is, that 
one day, if I work hard, I may give lessons on the 
violin fairly well. That is something to know, for 
one day it may be necessary. Oh ! I am beginning 
to think that we are poor. For myself I should not 
care, but there are Jackie and Elizabeth. There is 
something in the professor’s manner that makes me 
think things are wrong about the money father was 
supposed to leave. Wh}^ I suppose it, is that Uncle 
Keith seems so anxious I should not feel we are de- 
pendent upon him. 

“ ‘ Please remember that I am your banker until 
affairs are settled,’ he reminds me, and he looks con- 
fused and hurries off before I can question him. 
Oh, I hope not. I hope we are not poor. Do you 
ever feel like that about money, Dija ? I couldn’t 
bear to be dependent — it would always be there in 
my mind cankering, although no one knew of it 
but me. 

“ Has Mrs. Harper mentioned to you her inten- 
tion to go to town ? She wants me to ac- 
company her, but 1 do not see how it is to be 
accomplished. I slioidd like it, for, of course, you 
would be there. I have seen nothing of London, 
but ” 


A Winter of Discontent 235 

A knock at the door disturbed Barbara. Mrs. 
Grimby followed the knock. 

“ Will you go down to the professor in the study, 
Miss Barbara, please,” she said anxiously ; there’s 
something the matter.” 

“ Hi there ! ” shrieked Polly with her old 
animosity for Mrs. Grimby. “ There is no 
luck ” 

“ Don’t,” commanded Barbara, with a foreboding 
of evil, cutting the bird short in its song. “ Is the 
professor ill ? ” 

“Something’s wrong,” replied Mrs. Grimby, 
darkly, and Barbara hastened down-stairs with a 
quickly-beating heart. 

Deceiving no answer to her knock, she opened the 
door and looked in. The study was in semi-dark- 
ness, the flickering firelight brightening the shadows 
of the wintry twilight. 

The bowed figure of the professor was discern- 
ible at his desk. He did not notice the closing of 
the door, nor Barbara’s presence at his side. A 
half groan escaped his lips. 

“ Uncle,” faltered Barbara, “ are you ill ? ” Her 
mind was busy with many fears and conjectures, 
but the disaster that had befallen the student she 
did not guess. “Dear Uncle,” repeated Barbara, 


A Maid of Mettle 


236 

putting her hand on the bowed shoulder, “ are you 
ill ? ” He roused and looked up in a dazed way, 
then, with hands that trembled, turned up the 
lamp. 

“ Look ! ” he said huskily, pointing to the floor. 
“ The work of two years.” 

The carpet was strewn with particles of paper. 
Barbara’s heart stood still, and every trace of 
color left her cheeks. She clasped her hands with 
a quick gesture of despair. 

“ Not — not Elizabeth ? ” she gasped. 

“ Yes.” 

The girl fell on her knees, and began desperately 
to pick up the fragments. It was a fruitless action, 
but she scarcely knew what she did. It was a ter- 
rible thing. A week ago the professor had spoken 
with relief and satisfaction of these concluding 
chapters, over which he had spent two toilsome 
years of research. The fruit of those years was 
represented by a litter of torn paper. 

“ She was making snow,” explained the professor, 
s])eaking in a dull, hopeless tone. 

“ It was wicked ! ” exclaimed Barbara, “ wicked 
and ungrateful and cruel. This in return for all 
your kindness.” 

‘‘ She did not know.” It was the professor who 


A Winter of Discontent 


237 

pleaded, and Barbara who was angry. Their 
former positions were reversed. 

Barbara left the room in search of the culprit. 
The silence of disgrace reigned in the nursery. 
But in the night nursery there was a slight stir. 
Barbara turned up the gas. Jackie was tucking 
Lizzie-Bess up in bed, fully dressed and with her 
boots on. The lad started guiltily when Barbara 
entered. A pair of frightened eyes peered over 
the bedclothes. 

“ Lizzie-Bess is sick,” he explained with a catch 
in his voice. 

“ Lizzie-Bess is wicked — wicked^’' reiterated Bar- 
bara. “ It is terrible what she has done. To have 
destroyed the professor’s book is a dreadful thing. 
Jackie, were you there ? Answer me, did you per- 
mit her to do it ? ” 

Jackie still stood protectingly beside the figure 
under the bedclothes. 

‘‘ She had never seen the snow,” he replied, gulp- 
ing back his tears, “ and it only snowed a little. I 
went out to look at the sky to see if more would 
come, and it would not. And Lizzie-Bess had made 
some with the paper.” 

“ Then you were not to blame ! ” 


238 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ If I had not left Lizzie- Bess, she would not have 
done it. I know better.” 

“ 1 must think what to do,” said Barbara distract- 
edly. “ Lizzie-Bess must be punished — she must 
be made to understand. Never again on any ex- 
cuse must either of you enter the study ; but nothing 
can undo the mischief done — you have broken the 
professor’s heart — and mine.” 

When the door closed behind Barbara, Elizabeth 
sat up. She and Jackie stared at each other in mute, 
miserable dread. What awful thing had Elizabeth 
done ? Broken the professor’s and Barbara’s hearts. 
The boy felt a tightening at his own. His lips 
quivered ; the end of the world seemed near. 

“ It should have snowed more,” he said, with an 
instinctive appeal to the Might-Have-Been, which 
would have protected the little sister from tempta- 
tion. 

He had no thought of deserting her in her sin. 
What could be done ? Apology would not mend 
the book. His friend, Mr. Barton, perhaps, could 
advise, but Mr. Barton was away. Leonard Harper 
was too far off. Some one must save Lizzie-Bess 
from her doom. 

The queen. 

His face brightened. The great and good queen. 


A W inter ot Discontent 


239 

of wLom his father had spoken — she would redeem 
them from their disgrace. 

“ Myself,” lie said to Elizabeth, “ will take you 
to the queen, and I will say to her, ‘ This is ray 
sister, Lizzie-Bess. She’s sick with the miserable ; 
she’s torn up the professor’s book, and broken his 
heart.’ And the queen will say, ‘ God bless you ! 
Bore child, she is only five.’ ” 

Half an hour later two small, capped and coated 
figures were on the road. 

“ All roads lead to London,” Jackie had heard, 
and he imagined that on the way there they would 
sight the great castle of the great lady. 

“ It is somewhere,” declared Jackie vaguely. On 
the wild Australian farm you only had to go far 
enough to meet everybody you knew ; he had heard 
Leonard and Mr. Barton talking of “ running up to 
town ” — it couldn’t be far, they had come so quickly 
in the train. 

With their faces turned toward Dover, they 
went on hand in hand. Accustomed to lonely 
places from their babyhood, they were not afraid, 
although the darkness was gathering, and besides, 
there were the lamps for a long way ! But the 
lamps grew dimmer and further between, the 
hedges higher, and the night darker. Still they 


240 


A Maid of Mettle 


trudged on hand in hand, cheering the way with 
fairy-tales of palaces and crowns of gold and precious 
gems. Growing at every step less hopeful and ex- 
pectant of what lay before, thinking back more 
wistfully of the fire and food and bed — even Bar- 
bara and the professor’s wrath seemed at this dis- 
tance more bearable than this bewildering darkness 
and cold. At last Jack said : 

“ Myself, when I see the stars, am not afraid ; but 
when the stars are not there, I cannot find the 
way.” 

The stars were not there. All was dark and fear- 
fully still, except for the moaning of the wind among 
the leafless trees. Then something tingling stung 
their cheeks. It was what they had been longing 
for all day — the beautiful, unfamiliar snow. 


CHAPTEE XIV 


SIMPLE LIZZIE 

Barbara’s distress was so poignant that she 
could not join the professor at dinner — eating and 
calmness were out of the question just then. With 
trembling hands she pieced the multitudinous scraps 
of the torn chapters on a table in the drawing-room, 
with a desperate unformed hope of making sense. 
Until she had gained self-control, she dared not 
face the children. Was she herself in any way to 
blame? she asked miserably. She could answer 
honestly that she was not. It had been by the 
professor’s own expressed desire that Elizabeth had 
been allowed free access to the study. He had 
wished “ the little one ” to be near him — and famil- 
iarity had bred contempt of his mysteries. 

Barbara’s head was bowed over the littered table 
when she felt the touch of a caressing hand. “ Don’t 
grieve so, my child,” said the professor’s voice 
huskily. “ The trouble is not irreparable ! ” 

Barbara looked up at him with pathetic wet 
eyes. 


242 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ It seems so heartless — so ungrateful ! ” she 
replied, mastering her voice sufficiently to speak. 

“ You have been so good to us 

He made a jesture of dissent and half turned as 
though to go away ; but Barbara would not be 
checked, her emotion broke through the barrier 
of reserve with which her uncle hedged himself in. 

“I understand — I know,” she continued, moving 
a torn square of paper as though it were a piece 
upon a draught-board, “ what this means to you — 
the labor it represents. I know, too, how our com- 
ing must have interfered with the routine of your 

life, yet you have let us come so close to you ” 

He interrupted her now decidedly. 

“ Close enough to love you,” he answered, coming 
back the step he had taken away, and seating him- 
self beside her. With a nervous hand he pushed 
the torn pieces of manuscript away, and rested his 
arm upon the table. 

“Child, it has not been all receiving on your 
part ; you have given more than I have bestowed. 
Will you remember that ? ” 

Barbara looked with wonder into the sunken 
gray eyes which bore traces of thought and heavi- 
ness, and of sadness too. 

“ I was forgetting before you came, that there 


Simple Lizzie 243 

might be things in life as well worth considera- 
tion ” he smiled sadly, “ as the history of Kent 

— the history of young lives, perhaps.” 

When he was silent, Barbara was in awe of him, 
but to hear the professor talk like this was too 
astounding to be realized all at once. Did it mean 
that he was actually not sorry they were there ? 

“ This gives me an opportunity of saying some- 
thing I have been wanting to say,” he proceeded, 
averting his gaze from the surprised and watchful 
eyes fixed upon him. ‘‘ It is a question of — of 
business relating to — to the — your father’s will,” 
he went on hurriedly. “ I need not inflict the dry 
details upon you. In brief, he divided his property 
equally among you and your brother and sister. 
The instructions concerning education, etc., were 
clear — Jackie’s choice of a profession was left partly 
to my discretion, and partly to any indication he 
might give of talent in any special direction. All 
perfectly comprehensible — perfectly so ; an ample 
allowance — was — er — indicated,” the professor stum- 
bled somewhat in his speech, but his eyes encoun- 
tering Barbara’s face again, saw there such unmis- 
takable signs of relief, that his own face lightened. 
He smiled encouragingly. “An ample allowance 
was indicated,” he reiterated, “ but,” he concluded. 


A Maid of Mettle 


244 

“ owing to the death of Mr. Nettlethorpe, in whose 
hands some of the investments were placed — you 
know, of course, that Mr. Nettlethorpe was a so- 
licitor of repute and standing— there will be delay 
in realizing.” 

His face brightened still more ; he congratulated 
himself that his choice of words was getting him 
through a dreaded explanation excellently. 

“ A delay in realizing ? ” queried Barbara, whose 
vision of some new and necessary garments for her- 
self and the children receded. 

The professor nodded with unusual cheerfulness. 

“ Meanwhile regard me your — er — as — in fact, 
what your father constituted me — your legal guard- 
ian. Do not find it diflicult to confer with me — 
there will be shoes ! ” 

Shoes ! Barbara smiled. The professor had 
' turned away his head with a confused remem- 
brance that his thoughtlessness had, once before, 
put Barbara into a humiliating position. 

Did he think boys and girls needed only shoes ? 
But she thanked him for his kindness, and chiefiy 
for his patience of this evening. 

His gaze rested upon the torn bits of paper 
which represented all that was left to show for his 
concentration of the last two years ; a painful con- 


Simple Lizzie 245 

traction of the brows showed what an effort it cost 
him to say, as before, “ It is not irreparable. The 
evils which cannot be repaired are life’s tragedies, 
child.” 

Yet as he slowly returned to his study and shut 
the door, crossing to his dismantled desk, that 
sense of irreparableness which he had deplored 
rushed over him with despairing force. Two years 
wasted. Years made up of arduous hours. And 
he was tired and old. To youth and enthusiasm 
the years counted little — youth and fruitless effort 
were not strangers, but an old man could not spare 
two years from the fruit of his labor. And, had he 
the energy, the concentrative power to give a second 
time ? 

He must force himself to his task ; crush back 
his disappointment at the deferred honors. He had 
not reached sixty years without the knowledge of 
waiting. But if sixty waits better than sixteen, 
the waiting is infinitely more pathetic, for the years 
of the aged are few in which to realize. 

The professor’s painful reverie was broken into 
by the announcement that the children had gone. 

“ Lord protect them this night,” ejaculated Mrs. 
Grimby, “for if they’ve gone far in this snow 
they’ll need it.” 


246 A Maid of Mettle 

Barbara bad found a little pencil scrawl in Jack’s 
handwriting. 

“ Wee are goen to see the queen an’ ask her not 
to let the professor brake his heart.” 

“ Where’s the dog ? ” asked Professor Humphries, 
buttoning on his overcoat. 

“ He’s with them certain,” responded Mrs. 
Grimby, but Barbara appeared with his Majesty. 
He had been shut up in the nursery. 

The great St. Bernard, true to the instincts of 
his breed, plunged out into the snow, to which he, 
like his Australian master and mistress, was a 
stranger by experience. He seemed excited and 
eager, and evidently understood Barbara’s instruc- 
tions. 

Mrs. Grimby stood at the door peering into the 
drifting snow after the quickly disappearing figures. 

How, Grimby,” she called to her husband in 
the background, “ are you going to stand there all 
night before you get your boots on ? ” 

“ Boots on ? ” 

“ Unless you’d rather go out without ’um I ” re- 
torted Mrs. Grimby, ‘‘ for you’ve got to go along the 
‘ front ’ an’ ask the boatmen if they’ve seen them — 
there’s no knowin’. Call in at the lifeboat house — 
it’s no use inquirin’ next door, Mr. Barton’s been 


247 


Simple Lizzie 

away this month an’ more, an’ the house locked up, 
as these doors would ’ave been if I’d ’ave ’ad my 
way,” went on Mrs. Grimby, regardless of the fact 
that Mr. Grimby had descended into the basement 
to put his boots on, as directed. “ I said to the mas- 
ter frequent, ‘ Sir,’ I said, ‘ these goin’-off propensi- 
ties of them two children will end in trouble some 
day ’ ; ‘ Don’t croak,’ ’e ses. ‘ An’, moreover, they 
canH be locked in ; they’ve been accustomed to run 
free like young colts,’ ses ’e, ‘an’ there’s time 
enough for harness — they’ll mope an’ pine an’ hate 
us^ ’e ses, ‘if we rob ’um of freedom too soon. 
Keep a judicious eye upon ’um an’ no ’arm ’ull 
come.’ 

“ ‘ Sir,’ I said, ‘ I ain’t made of eyes — I’ve only got 
two — an’ ne’er a one at the back o’ my ’ed, an’ 
it ’ud take the vision of a fly to watch them two 
children — a judicious eye ’asn’t a chance.’ I feel 
like little Miss Lizzie-Bess says, ‘ sick with the mis- 
erables, I do.’ ” 

And Mrs. Grimby went in from the door to 
watch at the window. But the snow drifted so 
thickly that the landscape was shut out and all she 
could see was the reflection in the glass of the 
dining-room fire. It seemed to Mrs. Grimby that 
she stood there hours without a sign or a sound. 


A Maid of Mettle 


248 

The snow was blinding in the open ; the three 
searchers had made slow and painful progress to 
Upper Deal, trusting to the instinct of the dumb 
member of their party, who, by signs of his own, 
led them past the tiny hamlet whose small cottages 
and gray old church were covered in a pall of 
white. Not a creature was in sight, and, with a shy 
reluctance to admit strangers into his affairs, the 
professor forbore making enquiries whether two 
small wanderers had been seen passing that way. 
His mind was too busy for conjecture ; in a blind- 
ness of self-torture he saw nothing except the fact 
that the child who had grown into his heart had 
fled from his anger. For he had been angry. In 
the first shock of the discovery he had told Eliza- 
beth to go somewhere where he could not see her. 
And she had gone. With her sweet face and the 
largeness of her trust in him, she had penetrated the 
crust of his self-absorption. From the very com- 
mencement she had turned from the others to him. 

“ I will come with you,” had been her cry. 
Jackie had turned to Mr. Barton and to Leonard 
Harper for pleasure and help — the little one had 
turned to him and pleaded in her prayer. 

Pity me, simple Lizzie.” ' 

Barbara roused him. 


249 


Simple Lizzie 

“Uncle Keith, I do not know whether his 
Majesty knows what he is about, or is just going 
the road we usually go — to Blackthorne. Can it 
be possible the children made for there ? — Oh ! I 
wish I knew ! Father and mother left them to my 
care, and if anything happens to them ! ” 

She did not finish the sentence. The professor 
was roused. 

“ I must go back for men,” he affirmed, “ or on 
to Blackthorne. I can leave you there and return 
with Leonard and the men of the household. It is 
impossible the children can have come further than 
this, supposing they took this road. They had, per- 
haps, an hour’s start of the snow. After it came 
on they could not go far 

His Majesty was greatly excited, burrowing in a 
drift beside the road under the shelter of a high 
hedge. He lifted his great head and gave a bark. 

Barbara and the professor knelt down. Their 
search was ended. Jackie and Elizabeth were 
locked in each other’s arms, cold and still. And 
Barbara remembered afterwards that Jackie had 
taken off his own coat to cover his little sister. 

With inarticulate exclamations of mingled joy and 
fear, Barbara kissed the frozen lips, while his 
Majesty licked hands and cheeks in his dumb rejoic- 


250 


A Maid of Mettle 


ins'. He knew better than the human creatures — 
he knew the children were not dead. 

But what was to be done ? how was help to be 
gained ? The snow still fell fast, and the darkness 
and the cold were deepening. 

The professor called. 

His voice, husky and weak, died into silence. 

Then the strange Australian cry rang out for the 
first time, perhaps, in a Kentish lane. 

“ Coo-ee.” 

The clear, far-reaching notes penetrated the still- 
ness. A moment’s Avaiting and then, was that an 
echo or a reply ? 


The last syllable only Avas faintly audible. 

‘‘ Coo-ee,” called Barbara again. 

This time there Avas no doubt ; there Avas a dis- 
tinct ansAver. 

“ It is Leonard Harper ! ” cried Barbara. One 
day she and Dija had taught him the bush call. A 
moment or tAvo later the lights of his dog-cart 
gleamed round the corner of the lane, and shone 
over the group by the Avayside. 

“ Barbara — ^you ? why, what brings you here ? ” 

He sprang to the ground and heard the reply in 
a sentence. 


251 


Simple Lizzie 

In his prompt fashion he soon had the rescued 
and the rescuers aboard the cart — all save his 
Majesty, who ran and barked behind. 

The professor held Elizabeth folded in his arms, 
his head bent over her, regardless of the cold. 
Leonard wrapped a rug about the lad on his knee, 
and threw another over Barbara. 

“ He took off his coat to cover Lizzie-Bess,” 
murmured Barbara. 

“ He’s a Briton,” said Leonard, in a low tone. 

As he carried Jackie upstairs, the lad roused, and 
looking dreamily into Leonard’s face, said : 

“ The snow is coming down ; myself will put my 
coat on Lizzie-Bess.” 

A hot bath and other remedies brought back the 
color to Jack’s face, and he sank into a deep and 
natural slumber, but towards morning Elizabeth’s 
breathing became difficult, the whiteness of her 
cheeks flushed with fever, and when an hour or 
two later the doctor was summoned, he looked 
grave. 

Barbara, who had been up all night was pale but 
quiet. The doctor’s keen eyes rested upon her 
kindly. 

‘‘ Shall I send you a nurse ? ” he asked, “ or can 
I rely on you ? Anyway, for the present.” 


252 


A Maid of Mettle 


She looked at the tall strong presence appeal- 
ingly, yet with a sense of comfort. 

“ Mother used to say I was a good nurse, and I 
was younger then.” 

The doctor was a friend of Leonard Harper and 
knew the story of “the little mother” and her 
charges ; knew instinctively that she was desiring 
to be made responsible. 

“Very well then,” he agreed, and gave straight- 
forward instructions for the day. 

“ But to-night you must be relieved — we can’t 
have you ill, you know.” 

The professor stopped him on the way down- 
stairs. His look asked the question. 

“Inflammation of the lungs,” the doctor 
answered. 

Mrs. Grimby, it seemed, had experience in nurs- 
ing, and vied with Barbara in the making of poul- 
tices. She had nursed one lady, she informed 
Barbara, through “ fatty regeneration ” of the heart. 

Through the days of anxiety which followed, 
when the professor was not walking restlessly and 
aimlessly about, he was watching the tumbled 
golden head tossing upon the pillows. But he 
sought in vain for any sign of recognition from the 
fever-bright eyes. 


253 


Simple Lizzie 

One evening when the house was very still, the 
professor opened his study door and stumbled across 
the curled-up figures of his Majesty and Jackie 
upon the mat. At first glance the near-sighted 
eyes — dim too with long vigils — saw only the dog ; 
but a fair head upraised itself from the shaggy coat. 

“ Why lad, dear, is it you ? ” 

Jack rose, tear-stained and forlorn. 

“ Myself,” he said, “ did not come in. Barbara 
forbade me. I shall not be disobedient — I ought to 
be punished.” 

“ Punished ? ” 

“ Barbara said so — that we had done a terrible 
thing. And — I — did not want — oh ! I did not want, 
ray Lizzie-Bess to be punished ! ” sobbed Jack, “ so 
I took her to see the queen — an’ the queen is far 

away. Please ” he raised his head, ‘‘ will you 

punish me for Lizzie-Bess ? ” 

“ My child — come in.” 

‘‘ It is disobedient to come in.” 

“ Hot if I ask you.” 

He took Jack by the hand and led him to the 
great armchair by the fire. 

“I think,” said the professor, “you have been 
punished enough. Do you know what honor 
means ? ” 


2 54 


A Maid of Mettle 


The boy looked straight into the man’s eyes. 

“ My father, once — when Ave AA^ere riding on the 
run — said ‘Jackie, son, a man of honor always 
keeps his Avord.’” 

“ Good. IN’ow Avill you promise me never again 
to leave the garden or permit Elizabeth to do so 
Avithout permission?” 

“ I Avill ask permission,” said Jack. 

“ And for Elizabeth ? ” 

Jackie shook his head. 

“ She’s at death’s door,” he mournfully replied. 
The professor rose hurriedly. 

“ Mrs. Griinby ses,” continued Jack, “ she’ll take 
her affydavy Lizzie-Bess Avill be an angel this night. 

An’ I don’t want ” the sobs broke out aneAv, 

“ Lizzie-Bess to be an angel — Lizzie-Bess Avouldn’t 
like to go to heaven. She said so the day AA^e came.” 

The professor dreAv Jack to his knee, and from 
his OAvn sorroAV found the Avords to say to the child. 
They Avere Avords which the lad never forgot. He 
shoAved him how vain it was ever to run aAvay from 
the consequences of an act, good or ill ; not even 
the queen in all her glory could undo Avhat had 
been done. The only Avay Avas to face fact and pay 
the debt due. 

“To shield another from the consequence of their 


Simple Lizzie 


255 

fault is loving and merciful,” the old man said to 
the child, “ but unless the sinner be of noble heart 
it is mercy wasted.” He was speaking now above 
the child’s comprehension ; all Jackie understood 
was the gentle caress of the professor’s hand upon 
his hair — “But if the heart be noble, mercy is 
‘ twice blessed,’ for it blesses those who receive as 
well as those who give. Under cover of sheltering 
love, the timid grow strong and from failure learn 
humility and compassion ; courage too, to face 
calamity, and give shelter in turn ” 

The boy looked wonderingly into the eyes which 
did not see him, but some long-forgotten past. 

“ But the coward and the craven take all that 
another can give, and when the store is exhausted 
turn away.” 

The professor was roused, and saw the lad at his 
feet. 

“ Ho, no ; you will not run away any more. 
There is nothing anywhere, in any place, for a 
small boy and girl better than home.” 

All that night Barbara and the professor 
watched together through the hours of crisis. 
Toward morning Lizzie-Bess seemed to become 
conscious of the strong arms enfolding her. She 
opened her eyes and looking into the professor’s 


A Maid of Mettle 


256 

face with half-remembrance of her evening prayer, 
murmured feebly : Pity me, simple Lizzie.” 

The professor held her closer. When the sun 
rose she was still asleep in his arms. 


CHAPTEE XY 


THREE LETTERS 

From Betty Talbert, Queensland, to Dija Dan- 
vers, Sevenoaks, England. 

“ My own Most Precious Girl, — How we do 
miss a thing when we haven’t got it. And how I 
miss you, my Dija, now you are far away. When 
you were near I ‘rode over you, rough-shod,’ 
Uncle Fosbrey used to say, for I was always sure 
you would give in to me, and Cousin Myrn also. 

“I’ve had a long letter of sixteen pages from 
Myrn, one about himself and college, seven pages 
about you, and all that has happened ; and eight 
pages about the other girl. My darling. Dija, in the 
old sweet days when you couldn’t be left behind in 
England because I was coming to Australia with 
mother for the benefit of her health — there was no 
other girl. Hot even when Fanny Fosbrey made 
you jealous, and you slapped me with the hair- 
brush because I seemed fond of her — I was not really 
fond — we were only cousins ! and that day when 

you were lost in the bush no one came between us, 
257 


A Maid of Mettle 


258 

although you threw the sandwiches into the sand 
because we were too thirsty to eat. It was a mis- 
xinder standing. Ev'Crything that came between us 
in the old days was a misunderstanding. But now 
sixteen thousand miles of ocean roll between, and 
another girl! Even the climate separates us. 
When I am hot you are cold, and when I am a 
little cool you are warm, and the stars of the south- 
ern night are not the stars of your native land. 

“ You needn’t laugh. I mean it. I expect you 
will say ‘ stuff.’ But it isn’t stuff — it’s true. 

“ Since Cousin Fanny married she calls me ‘ The 
Baby,’ and never invites me to her house when 
there are any grown-ups there except her husband. 

“ It’s a. lovelxj house. All the kitchens and serv- 
ants’ quarters are dug out of the cool earth, and 
there are orange groves in the garden. She’s got a 
carriage and wears long trains, but mother says by 
birth a Fosbrey might marry anybody; that their 
men have been brave gentlemen and their women 
beautiful. 

“I am a Fosbrey on my mother’s side — do you 
think I shall be beautiful? Myrn used to say 
Fanny was a mug, and that you beat me hollow ; 
but he says that Barbara Clare is the prettiest girl 
of us all. 


Three Letters 


259 

“If mother would only go back to England we 
should have good times. But mother is getting 
strong in the warm climate — she never coughs now. 
She just writes and writes. I shall never be like 
her. I hate study. I just like being loved, and 
having good times ” 

Dija smiled. She began to answer her letter 
before she finished reading it. 

“You’re a duffer,” she wrote, “a sentimental 
duffer, and you’ll never be a patch on your mother 
— girls usually aren’t. I’ve just read Mrs. Talbert’s 
new book, and it makes me feel heavenly. If she 
was my mother I should worship her.” 

This sentence was crossed out and another sub- 
stituted : “ I always worshiped Mrs. Talbert. 

With a blank piece of paper and a pen, she can 
make things strong and wonderful; people who 
seem always to have lived.” 

Dija referred to Betty’s letter again with knitted 
brows. 

“ That about the bush, etc., was temper. People 
give lots of other names to temper — I do, and call 
it being misunderstood, but it is t-e-m-p-e-r. Cheer 
up, old Betts ! of course I like Barbara Clare. 
She’s soft without being a softy. But you were 
my first friend, and I hope you’ll bo my last. 


26 o 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Don’t get into a tearfully mood about the good 
times we’re having here — because Ave're not having 
’em. And it’s pulpy to cry for other people’s 
moons. Barbara has been nursing her little sister, 
who was dangerously ill, and I’ve been alone here 
with mother all the winter. But in May — it’s 
April now — godmother is coming to town with 
Barbara and the kiddies. This will be headquar- 
ters. Then when Barbara and I stay in London with 
godmother, the kiddies will be under mother’s care 
— ‘ Hail, all hail, the merry, merry month of May ! 
We hasten from the woods away, and seek the 
town so bright and gay ! ’ — that’s a new version ! 

“We are not ‘ coming out ’ — we’re going out. It 
will only be theatres, shops, museums, etc. I want 
godmother to take a house-boat on the river, but 
she says not if she knows it! she doesn’t want 
several funerals. After I leave Girton I’m to come 
out properly ; if you are here godmother could 
‘present ’ the three of us together— you and Barbara 
and me; and you can go into long trains, so buck 
up I you’ll look an awful swell if you don’t get too 
sunburned (mine has all come off) and if you do, 
we can powder you up. Ladies of society always 
powder. You’ll do the going out backwards from 
the Boyal presence awfully well, you’re so grace- 


Three Letters 261 

ful, I shall be sure to knock somebody over — see if 
I don’t. 

“ Ever your own, 

“ Dija. 

“P. S. — Mr. Fosbrey has gone to the south of 
France — can’t stand an English winter. — Di. 

“ P. P. S. — I’ve enclosed some verses I wrote. Do 
you think Mrs. Talbert would read them ? — D.” 

A MOTHER’S RHAPSODY. 

Bird of my heart, thy sky be in my love ! 

Rise from thy nest, sing songs so sweet to me, 

That I shall lift my eyes to where, above 
Thy sun-tipped wings are lightly carrying thee ! 

And if, perchance, the angels beckon — then 
Fly on and up — but come not down again. 

Rose of my love, thy garden be my heart ! 

Draw to thyself all sweetness ; blow and bloom. 

And if, perchance, in sunshine we must part — 

Sunshine for thee, then let the stranger come. 

Pluck thee and wear thee in thy fragrance sweet 
Love will meet love ; the past and present meet. 

Star of my sky, shine softly in thine heaven ! 

And if for me ray midnight is not dark, 

But if, between, the parting cloud is driven, 

Still shine. Be star, and rose, and lark. 

Shine, bloom, and sing in all the years to be 
’Neath whate’er sky thy lot may chance to thee. 

Dija sealed and stamped her letter — then sat and 
looked at the writing-paper before her as though 


262 A Maid of Mettle 

debating in her own mind whether she should write 
more or not. 

She was in her own room at Sevenoaks — the 
room she had taken such pride in before she went 
to Australia. It had been kept, during her absence, 
in the perfect order she had left it ; it was neat 
now, for Dija had retained all her tidy personal 
w'ays. The maids used to declare that “ you could 
find anything belonging to Miss Dija in the dark, 
from a pencil to a pocket-handkerchief.” Her 
drawers and bureau, book-shelves and wardrobe 
alike, were all in perfect order. 

She looked round at the familiar treasures of her 
childhood — her own sketches — many of them of 
Australian scenes — her books, which were chiefly 
the presents of Leonard, at all the odds and ends of 
a girl’s treasure house, to which is attached all the 
romance of those days when birthdays and their 
tokens mean so much. 

Locked away in a drawer from sight and knowl- 
edge of living soul save herself, was the mutilated 
trunk of Dija’s last doll. She hadn’t had the heart 
when she left home, three years ago, to consign it 
to the dust-bin. 

The tall girl rose from her seat at the bureau 
and, crossing to a large old-fashioned chest, un- 


Three Letters 263 

locked a drawer and drew from the bottom a 
wooden, armless, legless, hairless something 
wrapped in a soft, white shawl. 

“You’re a reminiscence,” said Dija, with a strange 
smile. “Fancy! I loved you, once! You were 
that most unfortunate thing — a confidential friend. 
Into your patient ears I poured out my woes, and 
my delights — always sure of a listening! While 
you had eyes you stared at the visions I conjured ; 
your hair, while you had any, rose on end at the 
horrors I forced upon you; your arms and legs 
came off in my service, you poor, devoted thing, 
you’re old and ugly now, but I’m going to kiss you, 
kiss you, kiss you, for auld lang syne. There.” 

She covered the faded, expressionless face with 
the shawl, and rocked the wooden doll as a mother 
rocks a dying child. 

“ It isn’t what you are, but what you meant to 
me,” she continued, expressing what has been the 
tragedy of many a mother-heart. “I used to 
think you understood. But, for what you meant 
to me, dear, wooden, irresponsive thing. I’ll keep 
you — I’ll hide away your wooden-ness, you are not 
beautiful ; you are nothing that I thought you, but 
because I thought it ” 

Dija rose and went back to the chest of drawers. 


A Maid of Mettle 


264 

“I lock you away from criticism. Sleep, dear 
dummy, in lavender — because of what you 
seemed.” 

Dija went back to her bureau and began to write 
rapidly. 

“ Dear Leonard, — I heard from Betty Talbert 
to-day. I suppose I’m getting a prig. Myrn said 
I might — anyhow, I didn’t feel a bit like I used to 
— writing to her was like taking a smaller girl out 
for a walk and making talk for her. 

“The evolution of the prig, that’s what tabby- 
catty-ism does for you ! 

“No Girton yet. Nothing yet. Betts used to 
say ‘smothertime,’ she meant some other time. 
Time is smothering me. There’s a mystery about 
Mr. Nettlethorpe’s death — I wish it were a ghost. 
I could interview the ghost or walk through it and 
get to the other side, but this mystery is a dead- 
wally-no-thoroughfare sort of thing ; you come 
bump up against it in the dark, and you can neither 
get over, nor round, nor through it. 

“ But I think it’s about money. Mother started 
when I put gold into the collection plate, and 
hinted we must economize. But I call it frumpy 
to begin with the collection. 

“ I suggested that we do the washing at home. 


Three Letters 


265 

and I’d turn the mangle — I’m getting soft for want 

of exercise Oh, for a kangaroo hunt ! I 

should love to go on the wallaby (an Australian 
slang term for running Avild, you very proper Eng- 
lish young man). The Avallaby — I think that’s how 
you spell it. I’ve never seen it written, only 
spoken — goes so fast that you rarely overtake it, 
although you know which Avay it’s gone by the 
tracks. 

“ I’m momentarily groAving older. I sit still half 
the day and tAviddle my mind — it’s a mental thumb 
tAviddling, and just as irritatingly idiotic, tAvirly- 
Avhirly back to Avhere you started and no point 
gained. Economize ! Why ? I believe you knoAv. 
I call it oysterish the Avay you keep close. You 
never used to be a shell-fish. Economy sounds 
mean. Out and out picturesque poverty, living up 
in a garret Avith no food and a talloAV candle, might 
be made sublime (if it Avas me I’d eat haricot beans ; 
they are so sustaining), but genteel economy means 
snigging off all the odds and ends that used to go 
to other people, and putting a threepenny-bit in the 
collection plate and keeping your hand Avell over it 
till it is passed on. I kneAV an economical girl 
once and she AA^as like that. But to be j^oor settles 
everything. Everybody knoAvs it and you don’t 


266 


A Maid of Mettle 


have many friends, and you needn’t pretend to 
those you have — they love you ” 

AVhen, on the reading of the letter the next day, 
Leonard Harper got as far as that, he folded it and 
put it into his letter-case, and then went into the 
morning-room where Mrs. Harper sat, the bright sun- 
shine streaming in through an open Avindow. The 
room was sweet with the scent of violets and nar- 
cissus, and among the flowers the silver-haired old 
lady gave character to the emblems of spring. She 
turned her head as Leonard entered, Avith a half- 
smile of Avelcome. He did not speak, however, but 
Avent forward and stood beside her in the AvindoAV 
and seemed to be Avatching the chase of sunshine 
and shadoAv over the lawn. Still Avithout looking 
at his mother, he said : 

“ It is quite decided that you chaperon the girls 
next month, then ? Are you sure, mother mine, 
that it will not tire you ? ” 

The old lady laughed softly. 

“ When am I ever tired of young society ? And 
boy, Avhen you pass sixty by seven years you 
Avill find there are no personal springs or 
summers ; only autumns and winters. What 
spring seasons there are must be enjoyed vicari- 
ously.” 


Three Letters 267 

“At any rate, I shall be in London to look after 
you,” said Leonard. 

“ You will ? That is good.” Mrs. Harper smiled, 
then looked hard at Leonard over her spectacles. 
She saw that he was preoccupied with some troub- 
ling thought. 

He turned while she looked at him, and, with a . 
change of manner, stooped over the fine needlework 
in her hands. 

“ That will be very pretty when it is done,” he 
said, admiringly. “ Busy hands,” he laid his own 
upon them ; “ the gentlewomen of to-day are idle 
beside those of your time.” 

“Is it not rather that their energies are directed 
to other channels than embroidery and fine stitch- 
ing?” 

She knew he hadn’t come to talk about needle- 
work, so waited. 

“ I called in at Greystone Lodge as I rode home,” 
he went on, with a change of tone, “and found Bar- 
bara piecing together the torn bits of the professor’s 
manuscript. Her eyes looked tired. It seems she 
rises at dawn. She has made quite considerable 
headway. I’ve promised to run in part of every 
morning and type what she has done. Fancy me 
having a hand in The History of Kent ! By our 


268 


A Maid of Mettle 


united efforts we hope to have made clear readkig 
for the professor before the May holiday comes off. 
Barbara says she couldn’t be happy leaving her 
uncle to grope on alone with the Chinese puzzle.” 

“ And Elizabeth ? ” 

“ Looks like a wax doll, but eats like a hunter. 
I was to thank you for the jellies and etceteras.” 

“ Did you see Professor Humphries ? ” 

“Yes — the worst is confirmed. Hettlethorpe 
made a hopeless mess of it. His most sanguine 
investments have swallowed every farthing of 
Mrs. Hettlethorpe’s ; and the Clares haven’t got a 
cent.” 

Mrs. Harper laid down her needlework. 

“ How will that affect Dija ? ” she asked quickly. 

“It seems that her mother’s fortune has disap- 
peared, and there’s only a matter of a hundred a year 
for Mrs. Hettlethorpe’s use till Dija comes of age. 
Then it is Dija’s. The bulk of the money Danvers 
left to his wife’s discretion — it never seemed to 
occur to him she might marry again.” 

There was a long silence. 

“ There were others involved, I fear, besides Mrs. 
Nettlethorpe and the Clares,” said Mrs. Harper, 
presently. 

“ I believe so. It was all perfectly square,” re- 


Three Letters 


269 

sponded Leonard. “ The investments were made 
with the consent of the clients. There were par- 
ticular reasons to anticipate big results — Nettle- 
thorpe ruined himself as well as others in the ven- 
ture. It has been a tremendous smash.” 

“ Poor children,” murmured the old lady, with 
dim eyes. 

“By the way,” proceeded Leonard, “it is the 
professor’s express desire that Barbara should re- 
main in ignorance of the true state of affairs until 
such time as he deems it discreet to disclose them. 
He would not, for any consideration, have his niece 
feel that she and the kiddies are dependent upon 
him. It would most certainly make a difference in 
their relations, and instead of a free-will offering of 
affection, he would imagine that the children were 
simply endeavoring to do their duty. They must, 
he insists, feel free to stay or go, as time goes on, 
and order their ways, in a measure, after their own 
heart. Dependence, he holds, has a blighting effect 
upon the young, warping and stunting their in- 
dividuality.” 

“ Didn’t I always say he had a heart of gold ? ” 
exclaimed Mrs. Harper, delightedly. 

“ Don’t you always say something nice of every- 
body, sweetheart ? ” responded her son. 


A Maid of Mettle 


270 

She looked at him admiringly, standing strong 
and straight beside her. 

“ The professor will not regret,” she murmured. 
“ He is tasting the sweets of love. And whatever 
else the old can command, the affection of young 
hearts is a gift. In spite of the burden — and Pro- 
fessor Humphries is not rich — he is a wealthier 
man to-day than he was a year ago, when he was 
alone with his work. What will he do with the 
boy ? ” she asked, with a change of tone. 

“ ‘ Himself ’ informed me this morning that 
Uncle Keith had said if he liked, he might be a 
musician.” 

u Ho?” 

“ Indeed, yes — the archasologist hath fallen ! His 
one and only fear concerning the children now is 
that they will run away. Barton will find the way 
clear when he returns. His heart is set on the lad.” 

“ His tour is almost over, is it not ? ” 

“ He’ll be back for his concert in May ; a treat 
for Barbara.” 

“ I’m glad you will be in town, Leonard ; you can 
take the girls on the river. By the way, I want to 
borrow your flat occasionally. How shall you like 
being turned out of your bachelor quarters ? ” 

Leonard laughed. 


Three Letters 


271 


“ Forewarned is forearmed,” he responded, gaily. 
‘‘ I must get in trim for ladies. I’d better run up 
to town and look after the spring cleaning. Any- 
thing short of immaculate neatness will earn me 
Dija’s contempt. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he continued, gaily ; “you 
must bring the girls on a surprise visit — (day and 
hour previously arranged between us). Let them 
expect a jolly muddle. Dija declares I live in 
hopeless confusion and tobacco-smoke when I’m 
there. See ? ” 

Mrs. Harper smiled. 

“Dija is not to know until after the town trip, of 
course ? ” 

“ She suspects something by the tone of her let- 
ter — there have been hints of economy.” 

“I must write and warn her mother. Poor 
Agnes ! she so hoped things might turn out all 
right after all. It is just as well I am going to 
Seven oaks — she will dread making the communica- 
tion to Dija.” 

“It will knock Girton on the head,” remarked 
Leonard. 

“I suppose it must,” replied Mrs. Harper, slowly; 
“not of necessity financially; for, of course, Dija 
being my goddaughter, her education should be 


A Maid of Mettle 


272 

my care, but Agnes, I feel sure, will not spare her. 
It will be a great sacrifice to ask of Dija. I have 
thought of your old coach, dear old Dr. Griffiths, as 
tutor. Dija hates governesses — do you remember 
her behavior to poor Miss Johnson? She was a 
little cross-eyed, you know, and Dija argued that 
she couldn’t see straight, and that it was Miss 
Johnson’s vision that made her, Dija’s, behavior 
seem crooked ; that it was straight enough really, 
only Miss Johnson couldn’t see it so.” 

“ Talking of tutors reminds me that Jackie is to 
go to school in the autumn.” 

“ Here, in Deal, of course ? ” 

“Of course. Barbara wouldn’t sleep under the 
home-roof else at night. ‘ Himself ’ has requested 
me to present him with the largest slate and 
satchel that can be accommodated on the broad of 
a small boy’s back, for if he comports himself with 
honor at the college, he is to be presented with a 
pony when he is ten. I left him with furrowed 
brow, deep in a subtraction problem. He is deter- 
mined to be sure as to whether seven years taken 
away from ten leaves him a whole three years to 
be lived through, before he gets his heart’s desire.” 


CHAPTEK XVI 


A FAIRY GODMOTHER 

Dija and Barbara met with unmistakable pleas- 
ure, which each expressed after her natural 
manner. 

‘‘ IPs glorious to have you ! ” exclaimed Dija, 
after the first bustle and excitement of arrival were 
over, and the girls were in Dija’s room, “ and you 
look like a duck.” 

Barbara’s soft blue eyes were bright with pleas- 
ure. After a year of the “ daily round ” of com- 
mon tasks, the prospect of a holiday was en- 
chanting. 

‘‘ How tall you are ! ” said Barbara — “ and 
haven’t you got rather pale ? ” 

“Have I? I think it is only the absence of 
tan ! ” and Dija rubbed her cheeks. 

But there was no time for confidences just then. 
Dija took Barbara to her room, which was next her 
own, and showed her handiwork in the artistic 
arrangement of flowers. It was a new experience 
for Barbara to be relieved of her duties concerning 

273 


A Maid of Mettle 


274 

the children, who were in the hands of a maid in 
the long unused nursery of Dija’s childhood. 

When the two girls descended to the drawing- 
room, Barbara was presented to Dija’s mother. She 
had heard Dija refer to her mother as “little 
mummy,’’ but she was not prepared to see Mrs. 
JSTettlethorpe so slight and fair and girlish-looking 
in her tea-gown of soft billowy black. 

“ She is only thirty -five,” explained Dija later. 
“ She married my father when she was seventeen. 
She is only eighteen years older than I ! ” 

She received Barbara very sweetly, while Dija 
looked on with a half-whimsical smile. “ How fair 
you are ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Hettlethorpe with ad- 
miration. Her tall, strong, dark daughter under- 
stood. It had always been a grievance to her 
mother that she had not been “ fair and soft and 
fluffy,” as Dija expressed it. 

“Dija,” continued Mrs. Hettlethorpe, “grows 
more like her father every day. She was never 
like me.” 

She said this with mingled pride and wistfulness. 
Dija’s father had been of iron will, but generous, 
and a gentleman always. 

Dija flushed a little ; her head upraised slightly, 
then her expressive face grew sad. A girl always 


A Fairy Godmother 275 

feels that she is put miles away when her mother 
says — ‘‘ She was never like me.” 

Mrs. Harper, who was seated near, held out her 
hand to her godchild. Dija clasped it, and held the 
delicate lingers with lingering touch, “Your fa- 
ther,” her godmother murmured, so that no one 
but Dija heard, “ was one of my heroes.” 

After tea the two girls escaped on the pretence 
of Dija showing Barbara the house. Its air of 
comfort and elegance appealed to Barbara, who, 
like Mrs. Hettlethorpe, delighted, as Dija explained, 
“ in dowers, and frills and things.” The soft lace 
and silken hangings, the shaded lights appealed to 
Barbara after the rigid primness of Greystone 
Lodge. If Dija had known just then that her 
mother’s home must soon be lost to her, her pleas- 
ure would have been damped. 

“Your godmother,” said Barbara, “is a fairy 
godmother. She brings things to pass so easily. 
When drst London was suggested, I didn’t see my 
way about frocks and things for the children. Mrs. 
Harper said it was merely a matter of measure- 
ments and arranging with the professor later; so 
measurements were sent to London, and lo ! behold 
the result ! ” 

She pointed to the frocks the maid had partly 


A Maid of Mettle 


276 

unpacked. “ From Madame Olivier — she always 
makes my frocks,” said Dija carelessly ; “ they al- 
ways seem all right. Coats and skirts and blouses 
— simple enough.” 

“ But lined with silk — see this cream serge.” 

“ So they should be,” remarked Dija, Avho had 
never considered the fact that all girls did not pos- 
sess silk linings to their serges. Economy had not 
yet touched her skirts. 

“ A good old talk,” as Dija expressed it, followed. 
Dija herself had little news. In Barbara’s, the 
name of Leonard Harper frequently came in. 
With one leg crossed over her knee, Dija sat and 
listened. 

“If it had not been for Leonard,” Barbara de- 
clared, finishing her recital of the mutilated manu- 
script, “I never could have made sense of it. 
For hours every day he helped.” 

“So he should,” interjected Dija shortly. She 
never could be brought to see that gentlemen 
should not devote themselves to the service of a 
lady. But she looked thoughtful, as though while 
she listened her mind was busy on its own account. 
Barbara slipped her arm round Dija with a gentle 
hug. 

“ You and your friends have made England home 


277 


A Fairy Godmother 

to me, Dija — and now I am really to see London. 
It is almost as good as having a fairy godmother of 
my own to share yours, dear.” 

And so it proved. An early train next morning 
took Mrs. Harper and Mrs. Hettlethorpe into town, 
accompanied by the girls, who looked fresh and 
sweet in their white serges and sailor hats. 
Heither girl had yet done up her hair, but wore it 
in a thick-looped plait on the neck. Mrs. Hettle- 
thorpe, pale and frail-looking in her heavy mourn- 
ing, clung to Mrs. Harper almost with the affection 
of a daughter. It seemed a great comfort to her to 
have her old friend so near. Jack and Elizabeth 
had been left at Sevenoaks in charge of the 
maid Mary, who had once been Dija’s nurse. All 
Dija’s stored toys had been brought to light, and 
the little folk — for that one day at least — wanted 
for no desire of their hearts. 

At Victoria, Leonard met the party of ladies. 
He greeted Dija almost silently, scrutinizing her 
face intently. 

“ How you stare,” said Dija. ‘‘ What’s wrong ? ” 
for she never imagined that any one could look 
hard at her from interest, and least of all from pity. 

Leonard looked slightly confused and gave his 
attention to his mother. 


A Maid of Mettle 


278 

A carriage was waiting, and when they were 
seated, a day of delight began for one person, at 
least. It was the middle of May, and London 
looked its best. The season was in full swing, the 
window-boxes bloomed with flowers, and as they 
bowled along the sunlit streets, the City AYonder- 
ful looked a fair place in which to dwell. A 
“ block ” in Piccadilly was a revelation to Barbara, 
and Dija seemed to find her spirits rise to those of 
her girl friend. They lunched at a restaurant, then 
Leonard, with a look at Mrs. Harper, said : 

“I’ll leave you to the shopping and the park, 
alone, and stay quietly in my den. Will see you 
off later.” 

Mrs. Harper smiled. 

It transpired that there was an appointment at 
Madame Olivier’s where several dainty girlish 
frocks were waiting to be tried on, exquisite in 
their simplicity, but an exquisite simplicity which 
required a godmother’s purse. 

“ It is the fairy-wand again,” said Dija. 

The sweet old gentlewoman smiled. 

“ I am old enough to be humored,” she replied. 
“ Why shouldn’t an old lady have her way some- 
times, as well as a young one ? ” 

In her heart she was saying, that whatever of 


279 


A Fairy Godmother 

hardship and sorrow the future might have in store 
for these two girls, the next four weeks should 
give them all the delights that money and affection 
could. 

They were taken into a dressing room and their 
beautiful long hair let loose from its plait and 
brushed into rippling waves. Both were dressed in 
white — soft, silky, fleecy stuff for which they had 
no name — with quaint little shoulder capes and 
broad-brimmed hats. A cluster of violet velvet 
pansies nestled under the brim of Dija’s hat to mark 
her half- mourning, and pink rose-buds touched Bar- 
bara’s sunny hair. 

When they presented themselves, Mrs. Harper 
looked satisfied. Mrs. Hettlethorpe turned quickly 
away. 

The drive in the park had all the novel charm of 
“the first time” for Barbara. The Kow was 
crowded. The season was exceptionally early and 
warm — it might have been June instead of the 
middle of May. The flower borders were brilliant 
with blossom ; the chairs under the magnificent 
trees were occupied by well-dressed people. It 
seemed to Barbara, that all the beauty and fashion 
and wealth of the world, drove round and round 
that beautiful Kow. She picked out the youngest 


28 o 


A Maid of Mettle 


faces in the carriages, and noted the deference paid 
to the beautiful and rich, and her heart beat faster 
with the thought that this really was her world. 
Her father and her mother were son and daughter 
of — this. It made no difference that they had 
farmed in a far-off land — that she had returned to 
England an alien. She belonged here. 

‘‘ I am so glad I am not poor,” she thought. 

She did not know that she was as penniless as a 
half-starved girl who hid between the trees, and 
looked enviously at the two beautiful girls who 
drove by. 

“ What are they better than I ? ” she asked. 

“Look!” exclaimed Mrs. Harper in subdued 
tones. “ The Princess 1 ” 

She was driving in a low carriage quietly and 
alone, her lovely sad face looking out from soft 
black ruffles. Barbara bent forward in an ecstasy 
of excitement, and met the beautiful eyes of the 
Princess of Wales. 

Mrs. Harper was recognized, and bowed to many 
old friends as she passed, and pointed out to Dija 
the famous men and women of literature and art 
whom she knew, and in whom Dija appeared more 
interested. 

It did not occur to the two girls that any one was 


A Fairy Godmother 281 

interested in them in that gay crowd, but Mrs. 
Harper and Mrs. Hettlethorpe saw admiring looks 
bent on the two young, fresh, interested faces, and 
Mrs. Hettlethorpe realized with pain, that, indi- 
rectly, one who had been dear to her, had shut 
these girls off from what was their right. But the 
present hour was good, and neither Dija nor Bar- 
bara had any apprehension, much less fear, for the 
days yet to be. That beautiful something put into 
the heart of the young, which makes happiness 
its expectation and right, made happiness seem 
due ; just the one state natural. In all the hun- 
dreds of beautiful faces that passed, neither girl 
saw tragedy — the only sad face that Barbara re- 
tained in memory was the face of the Princess. 

At length Mrs. Harper roused the party by the 
suggestion : “ Suppose we drive to Leonard’s cham- 
bers and ask him to give us some tea ? ” 

A burst of approval met this proposition. 

Mrs. Harper gave an address to the coachman. 

“ St. James’s.” 

How we’ll catch him ! ” exclaimed Dija. Mrs. 
Harper smiled. 

In answer to their ring, they Avere conducted up 
the softly-carpeted stairs by a solemn and sad-look- 
ing manservant who looked as though nothing could 


282 


A Maid of Mettle 


surprise him. He ushered the ladies into a softly- 
shaded, richly-furnished apartment, which at first 
sight could not be classed. 

Leonard came forward from the depths of an 
armchair, apparently much astonished. He received 
them with much courtesy. 

“Welcome to my den — I am honored. Mother 
mine, this is sweet of you. Sit here, Mrs. ISTettle- 
thorpe, where the air comes in from the balcony. 
Barbara, I believe you are the only domesticated 
person of the party — will you make tea ? ” 

Barbara, blushing under her broad-brimmed hat 
and roses, said, “ There is only one cup ! ” 

Every one’s attention was drawn to the exquisite 
silver and china tea-service set out for one. Evi- 
dently Leonard was very dainty in his ways. Dija 
looked on, almost as solemn as the servant who 
answered the summons to bring more cups and cake. 

“ She’s exquisitely prett}^,” thought Dija, as she 
watched Barbara making tea. She did not envy 
her prettiness at all, but there was an aching wish 
in Dija’s heart that she had Barbara’s sweetness and 
tact. She was so undemonstratively tactful, and 
godmother and her mother and Leonard knew it. 
Every face smiled as it turned to Barbara — even 
the pale face of Hija’s own mother. Why ? 


A Fairy Godmother 283 

Dija had devoted herself to her mother’s cause 
all the long dreary months past, yet her mother did 
not smile when she met her eyes. 

“ Does she know that my attention is forced? ” 
she asked herself ; “ that I am only trying to do my 
duty ? I expect she knows ; mothers have a way 
of knowing. So it comes sweet to her, Barbara’s 
spontaneous love. I wish — I wish I could love 
more — and not expect so much.” 

After tea, there was an examination of Leonard’s 
treasures, of which there were many — skins and 
heads of animals he had shot in foreign countries ; 
old pipes attached to which were old stories ; a 
museum of china from all parts of the world ; and 
as Dija looked, there came to her a new knowledge 
of this lifelong friend of hers, whom she had known 
but as a country gentleman, the faithful servant 
of her whims and demands — he had a life, a world 
apart, which she did not know. 

Insensibly her thought of him changed ; into her 
manner came something that seemed to Leonard 
like reserve, but which was, in fact, absence of the 
girlish presumption which had made demand irre- 
spective of right. 

That day was the first of many days of pleasure. 
The kiddies were not left out. Leonard took them 


284 A Maid of Mettle 

to Madame Tussaud’s and to Earl’s Court on his 
own responsibility, and one day he managed that, 
when her Majesty was driving through London, 
they did in reality “ see the queen.” 

“ She should have had her crown on,” said Jackie, 
and from that day in their fairy tales there never 
was a queen. In their little hearts they did what 
older people do — suffer by the realization that the 
great and good things of life do not always go 
crowned. 

Jackie was fast approaching the thought that 
England’s pomp and glory had been exaggerated. 
For himself, he wanted to sing; self-expression 
would have been the sweetest thing — only he had 
promised Mr. Barton he wouldn’t till Mr. Barton 
came home. And “a man of honor always kept 
his word.” 

Jackie kept his, although the birds in the trees 
often tempted him to break it. 

But one day he heard that Mr. Barton was com- 
ing home. It was talked of after dinner at Seven- 
oaks, one evening when Leonard was there and 
“ himself ” had been allowed to sit up for dessert. 

He was only a small boy at a table among his 
elders, eating strawberries, but a tumult of emotion 
which he did not understand, swept over him. 


A Fairy Godmother 285 

“Then I can sing,” was all he could analyze of 
his sensations. “ When Mr. Barton comes home I 
may sing,” he thought. 

“ Come, lad, you are not eating your strawber- 
ries,” said Leonard. 

“ I feel the sing coming up in my throat,” an- 
swered the boy. 

So it transpired at the end of May, that when 
Mr. Barton’s recital was given, Jackie was one of 
the party. 

It was a perfect afternoon and St. James Hall 
was crowded. By invitation of Mr. Barton, his 
friends secured seats well forward. And a wonder 
had happened — Professor Humphries had put in an 
appearance. He had arrived that morning without 
announcement at Sevenoaks — paler and thinner and 
more absent-minded than ever. 

“Good-morning,” he had said. “Joseph Bar- 
ton has asked me to join you at his recital this 
afternoon.” 

For the first time, the professor saw his next door 
neighbor as the world saw him. It was a reve- 
lation. He had been learning many things of late, 
but this afternoon the archaeologist aroused to the 
fact that the past is not the only world, and that to- 
day with its keen interest and poignant feeling is 


286 


A Maid of Mettle 


more intensely real to nine hundred and ninety -nine 
persons out of a thousand, than days that are 
dead. 

The hall was thronged by a brilliant company^ 
and Barbara felt unspeakable pride that the man 
for whom so many waited was her friend. Viewed 
from the world’s standpoint, he was a great man — 
and it was he who had taught Jackie how to sing, 
he who had submitted to the intrusions and in- 
dignities that the children had heaped upon him. 

She remembered Leonard’s words, “ The kings 
and queens of life do not wear their crowns every 
day.” 

This was a day of crown- wearing, for, as Joseph 
Barton came forward on the platform, every eye 
was bent upon him, and a storm of welcome greeted 
the short, plain man with the splendid head. He 
received the demonstrative welcome with the quiet 
of one to whom applause is no new thing. Bowing 
from right to left, his eyes searched the throng till 
they found the group which surrounded the silver- 
haired old lady in heliotrope silk and white lace. 
The large, dark eyes of the musician rested a mo- 
ment upon the group where Jackie sat ; then, with 
another bow to the audience, he gave a sign to his 
accompanist and the audience grew still. 


A Fairy Godmother 287 

Beethoven, Bach, Mendelssohn, through the 
artist’s genius, held the crowd spellbound for the 
next hour. The people only awoke from their 
pleasure-trance when the magic bow was sus- 
pended. Then Barbara, with the rest, grew con- 
scious of the strange smile of power on the face she 
had once thought plain, a smile half cynical, half 
sad. Jackie sat in wide-eyed silence, a hand on 
each knee. 

A Keverie, a composition of Joseph Barton’s 
own, was the last item on the programme. It had 
not yet been played in London and the musical 
critics settled to listen. But one small boy knew 
the piece. Jackie’s face flushed after the first few 
bars, and, with a sigh of deep content, he leaned 
against Barbara’s shoulder, his bright eyes fixed 
upon the man who made such harmony. 

With a throb of appropriation, Barbara realized 
how much their next-door neighbor meant to 
the world. He commanded the crowd as he had 
done the guests in his own drawing-room, and 
when at last he ceased playing, the applause was 
tremendous. 

He was down among his friends almost before the 
hall was quiet. His eyes were shining ; the look of 
mastery sat well on him. 


288 


A Maid of Mettle 


“He has conquered his world,” thought Dija, 
“ and that is why he smiles.” 

Barbara was talking to him shyly — it seemed 
almost presumption to approach him on familiar 
terms. Jackie stood by, holding his gloves with an 
affectionate clinging to something belonging to his 
man of men, and while the professor escorted the 
ladies to the carriage, Dija walked silently beside 
Leonard. 

“ Tired ? ” He looked into her face. Her eyes 
were wistful and sad. 

“ Grumpy,” she replied. 

Leonard said no more, but handed her into the 
carriage and, raising his hat, turned to walk to his 
chambers with the professor and Mr. Barton, where 
the party were to meet for tea. 

While the professor was deep in talk with Mrs. 
Harper, Leonard, his duties of host slackened a 
little, took a cup of tea for himself and went over 
to the balcony window where Dija stood looking 
down into the busy street. 

“ It has been a wasted year,” she said without 
turning her head. Leonard, who followed her 
thoughts and knew that she was pining for her 
unconquered world, answered, with an unusual 
vibration in his voice. 


A Fairy Godmother 289 

“No, cbildie, not wasted. The years we look 
upon as dead are sometimes most fruitful for the 
after-time. It happens like that in life, don’t you 
know ! ” 

Dija turned and looked hard at him. He had not 
called her “ childie ” since her return. “ You’re an 
awfully nice, clean-looking Englishman,” she said, 
as though the thought had occurred to her with 
sudden force. “ A chivalrous gentleman, that’s the 
term that suits you,” she proceeded, “ if your ways 
are real.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Leonard, not daring to 
laugh while Dija was in this mood. 

“ But there’s no knowing — perhaps you’re bored 
to death with every one except godmother, al- 
though you are so courteous. Still I like your 
way. It gives a girl a nice sort of feeling to be 
treated like a queen. You’re nice to go about 
with. It must be horrid when a girl’s men-folk 
are of an inferior sort — how humiliated she must 
feel.” 

Before Leonard could reply, the professor’s voice 
was heard. 

“I have quite decided now that I am here to 
remain in London for a few days.” 

He looked round upon the company with a 


A Maid of Mettle 


290 

determined expression — almost as though he feared 
being packed off to Deal and his study by the next 
train. The announcement took every one by 
surprise. How many years it had been since 
the professor had deserted his desk no one could 
remember. 

“I should like to show the young ladies the 
ancient churches of London,” he resumed. 

But it appeared he had brought no change of 
clothes. Barbara made the discovery and made out 
a list which was telegraphed to Mrs. Grimby. 

“ Thank you, my dear,” said the professor to 
Barbara in a tone of relief. “ I found the house 
quiet, yes, yes, appallingly quiet.” 

So instead of reveling in the return of old times 
he had missed them. 

Elizabeth was imported with Mary from Seven- 
oaks, and installed with the ladies at Leonard’s 
chambers. Her arrival was characteristically 
noisy. 

“ I do’ like being all by my shelf at Shevenoaks,’ 
she complained. ‘‘ I want to ride in ze park an’ see 
ze princesses an’ ’ze shops.” 

‘‘ You are six now,” remarked Jack contem- 
platively, ‘‘ and you should speak correctly. I do 
not say ‘ myself ’ now I am seven.” 


A Fairy Godmother 291 

“ I do’ care,” retorted Elizabeth, “ I mus’ take 
care of my little lungs.” 

Which meant that since her illness she could do 
no wrong. 

‘‘ It doesn’t make your lungs hurt to speak cor- 
rectly,” remonstrated Jack, who could not see the 
connection. 

“ Ze long words gives me ze cough,” was the 
barefaced assertion. “ Uncle Keith is buying me a 
boat, and to-morrow my little shelf shall swim it in 
ze pond.” 

And the next day one of the professor’s scientific 
friends stood in amazement, watching Keith Humph- 
ries apparently absorbed in a small child and a 
boat. 

The next few days the girls learned more about 
the ancient churches of London than many people 
do in a lifetime. The professor would pounce upon 
them and bear them off in breathless haste by ’bus 
or cab — sometimes to the East End, where hidden 
away amid squalid streets stood an old edifice rich 
in history, and by a mouldy tomb in some dim aisle 
would unearth a story of fame and valor. . 

“ I call him a perfect lamb ! ” said Dija one day 
to Barbara, as they stood watching him after one of 
these histories. He was bending over a tomb, hat 


A Maid of Mettle 


292 

in hand. “ Look at him now, bowing his head in 
reverence for what a man did hundreds of years 
ago.” 

“ By their deeds ye shall know them ... a 
man’s works live after him,” he was murmuring. 

But Leonard rescued them from the tombs. Left 
to himself, it appeared the professor would monopo- 
lize the society of the girls. The student and re- 
cluse said no more about returning home, but sub- 
mitted to concerts, operas and plays “ like as though 
he enjoyed it,” remarked Dija, but he managed, as 
it was, to surreptitiously annex Dija on many an odd 
occasion, and made her acquainted with many an 
old nook and corner of old London. Curious glances 
were cast at the tall gray-headed old man to whose 
arm clung the beautiful girl, as they threaded their 
way through courtyards and alleys, or stood before 
some second-hand bookstall poring over an old 
volume. 

To the girl it was delightful, and the old man 
relived in her company his early days of research, 
and poured out to the almost child, who “ wanted 
to know,” the riches he had dug and searched for 
through many a lonely year. 

Lie had a rare gift of imparting knowledge, which 
in his years of isolation he had not discovered. And 


293 


A Fairy Godmother 

in the years to come, when he read an article by a 
young writer entitled “ Eambles through Old Lon- 
don,” he remembered much of these hours, and re- 
alized some of the blessings of giving. 

When the second week of June came, the ‘‘fairy 
godmother,” determined to make this a time to be 
remembered in her name, announced the fact that 
she had taken a cottage for a fortnight on the upper 
Thames, and that, unless she was to be condemned to 
solitude, she expected everybody to go with her. 

“ The house is large enough, and the servants from 
Blackthorne are there,” she declared, “and the 
weather is exquisite for boating.” 

It ended in Mr. Barton and the professor being 
of the party, and in the lazy hours of some enchant- 
ing backwater among the water-lilies, the professor 
re-peopled the Thames for the party and pictured it 
as it was when nobles rowed to London-town. 

To-day it meant sunshine and drifting between 
green and wooded banks, comradeship, laughter and 
song, the old and young together, as perhaps it had 
meant under other conditions on a bygone day. 

It was at the end of June — Leonard had rowed 
Dija from Henley. For quite a distance they had 
passed before a line of houseboats, flower-decked 
and luxuriant, their tiny windows picturesque with 


294 ^ Maid of Mettle 

silk and lace. Under the awnings the lazy folk 
loitered ; the more energetic were on the 
river. 

They left the houseboats behind ; the river in the 
dusk of the starlit evening flowed black and silver 
between its dark banks, where in the distance the 
lights of “ The Cottage shone redly through the 
trees. 

The magic of the hour sent Dija’s thoughts to the 
far land where the summer was long and where 
the stars shone in a southern sky. 

She sat silently in the stern steering. 

“ Penny ! ” said Leonard. 

“ Kemembering,” answered Dija. 

“ Twopence,” declared Leonard. 

“ About Australia,” responded Dija. 

“ Threepence,” continued he. 

“Wondering how it will fit into the after-time. 
The ‘roughing it,’ don’t you know. Leonard, I 
have known shepherds, who, to keep watch over 
their sheep have lived for years alone — and far 
away from companionship.” 

“ Yes?” 

“ It isnH wooden,” said Dija as though she had 
been contradicted ; “ the things that I once thought 
stupid and wooden are the things that are hardest 


A Fairy Godmother 295 

to do. My heart gets full of it sometimes, Leonard 
— all the sacrifice of the world ! ” 

“ Come, childie, here we are ! ” exclaimed Leon- 
ard, “you mustn’t be in the blues on this last 
night ! ” 

“ Blues — I ? It’s not that,” answered Dija, jump- 
ing to the shore, “ I’m only thinking how exquisitely 
some folk let go, and wondering if 1 could 
do it.” 

Leonard fastened the boat to an overhanging 
willow, then joined Dija on the upper bank. 

He placed her hand on his arm and walked slowly 
with her along the path. 

“ You’re as plucky as any,” he said after a silence ; 
“ I’ve never known you to show the white feather.” 

Dija turned her head and scrutinized him as well 
as the dusk would allow. 

“ If you had to be told — er — told something un- 
pleasant, you’d bear it like a man.” 

Dija’s hand tightened on his arm. 

“ Hot dishonor f ” she whispered hoarsely, “ don’t 
tell me it is dishonor, Leonard.” 

“ On my honor, old fellow — no ! ” exclaimed 
Leonard. 

“You darling old dear !” exclaimed Dija, and 
kissed him as she had done when she was seven 


A Maid of Mettle 


296 

years old. Leonard let the incident pass, and took 
no advantage of it either by word or demeanor. 

“Oh, you don’t know,” continued Dija, “how I 
have dreaded it — mother’s face, her fear ! it seemed 
to me there must be disgrace. I couldn’t explain it. 
I wanted to ask but did not dare — all these days 
have been a conspiracy of kindness. Through them 
all I have felt the something unknown. Is it very 
bad, Leonard ? ” 

“ It is poverty, dear.” 

There was a silent pacing for a moment, then 
Dija asked, 

“ Only poverty — on your honor, Leonard ? ” 

“ Only poverty. Isn’t it enough ? ” 

Dija lifted her head and drew in a long breath. 

“ Sometimes I have almost wished for it,” said 
the girl who did not know its burden and its grind- 
ing care, “ if it would set me free from the rule of 
conventional life.” 

Leonard in as few words as possible explained 
matters, but when Dija learned that Barbara and 
the children’s money had gone with her mother’s in 
Mr. Nettlethorpe’s investments, her manner changed. 

“ Well, I do call him a pumpkin,” she exclaimed in- 
dignantly, referring to her stepfather as though he 
still lived ; “ no wonder mother looks miserable. If 


A Fairy Godmother 297 

the blow hadn’t knocked Mr. JS’ettlethorpe over I 
could have done it myself.” 

Her voice shook and changed ; she hurried to the 
lighted cottage. 

“ At any rate,” she said, laughing tremulously, 
“ I shan’t have to wear mother’s cast off frocks ; I’m 
too tall for that.” 

“ Hija, you are not crying, childie ? ” 

“ I’m 3^oung and strong and can work,” answered 
Dija ; “ it’s for mother I care.” 


CHAPTER XYII 

TRIUMPHS AND FAILURES 

“What time is it, Dija?” 

Dija’s pen stopped suddenly ; she lifted her head 
from her work. 

“ Time for your tea, mother.” 

Dija gazed a little abstractedly before her, then 
rose slowly, a tall, graceful figure in a clinging 
serge gown. Her abundant dark hair was coiled 
loosely at the nape of her neck, the thick waves 
falling back from the broad, low forehead. Two 
years had changed the frank, handsome face. It 
was softer, sadder, but handsome and frank still. 
The dark, thoughtful eyes rested upon the pale face 
of Mrs. Hettlethorpe, who was nestling among the 
cushions on the sofa. Dija made an instinctive 
movement to ring the bell, then recollected that 
they were in London lodgings, and not at Seven- 
oaks. 

Mrs. Hettlethorpe saw the movement, and com- 
mented on it. 

“ How absorbed you get when you write, Dija. 
You had forgotten that we were in apartments.” 

298 


Triumphs and Failures 299 

A weary sigh followed. It reminded Dija that 
Mrs. Nettlethorpe pined through the long, lonely 
hours for her old home. She lit a spirit-kettle and 
began preparations for a dainty tea, talking while 
she paid scrupulous attention to every detail. 

“I do make nice tea, don’t I, mummy? I 
learned that in Australia. The heavens might fall, 
but an Australian must have tea. You may take 
away every luxury from his table so that you leave 
him tea. He can think on it, take long journeys on 
it, fast on it ; but deprive him of it, and the world 
is a weary waste.” 

She talked cheerfully while she attended to Mrs. 
Hettlethorpe’s wants, then sat down beside the in- 
valid, who looked frail as a child. 

“ Dear,” said Dija, with her old, impulsive sud- 
denness, “ let me write and accept godmother’s in- 
vitation for you. Mentone has done her so much 
good. Say that you will go.” 

“I could not leave you here alone,” replied Mrs. 
Hettlethorpe ; ‘‘and you have so persistently re- 
fused your godmother’s invitations that she makes 
no mention of your joining me ; and besides,” added 
she, noting Dija’s flush, “ I feel disinclined for the 
journey. They Avill be home in May, then we will 
go to Blackthorne together.” 


A Maid of Mettle 


300 

“ But, mummy, this is only December, and you 
want the sunshine. Leonard would come for you ; 
he says so. Indeed, I will go with you if you will 
say the word.” 

“ And what about your articles ? ” 

Dija’s color had faded. She looked steadil}^ into 
her mother’s eyes. 

They could wait,” she replied. But she knew 
that waiting meant relinquishment of her first 
literary chance. There was a lifetime of hope and 
endeavor and discouragement packed into the last 
two years for Dija. Since the return of her verses, 
in all the dignity of print, from Australia, nothing 
she had written had found acceptance until the last 
three months. Immediately on hearing of her 
mother’s position, she set to work at fever-heat upon 
the “ great book ” which had been the dream of her 
girlhood, and, like many another dream, it had been 
a great failure. She had kept the writing of it a 
secret, and wrote it in those hours when her mother 
was sleeping. She had poured into it all the pas- 
sionate, half-formed desires of her youth ; its scorns 
and illusions : then offered it for serialization to a 
journal of repute. The one favor Dija had per- 
mitted herself to accept from her godmother was 
the tutorage of old Doctor Griffiths ; and while she 


Triumphs and Failures 301 

studied hard with him, she waited with feverish im- 
patience, “ almost till the end of the world,” she 
afterwards said, for an answer. And one day it 
came. The editor requested her to call at the office 
of The Christian Outlook. 

It was a dreary, drizzling day in ITovember, and 
London was looking its worst. The streets were 
greasy underfoot, and pedestrians jostled each other 
in ill-humor at the least delay ; but Dija, partly by 
’bus and partly on foot, had made her way from 
Bays water to Fleet Street, her heart beating high 
with expectation. 

She knew the story of many writers whose 
names were famous. Some (a few) had won their 
way with easy strides. The many had reached 
their position by unremitting toil. Was she to be 
one who would win easily ? 

The young man in the office had stared very hard 
at her when taking her card. He disappeared, and 
returned presently with the curt remark, “The 
editor will see you. This way, please, miss ; ” and 
as she followed him up-stairs, her heart had thumped 
almost to suffocation. 

The editor looked up as Dija entered, and, rising, 
offered her a chair. He was a middle-aged gentle- 
man, of benevolent aspect, and reseating himself. 


A Maid of Mettle 


302 

smiled slightly. He was possibly thinking how 
very young the aspirant to literary fame was. 

“ I have read your manuscript,” he said, looking at 
her attentively while he spoke. “ It is not usual for 
an editor to request an interview with a young 
writer, but your work shows great promise.” 

“ Only promise ? ” 

The words had slipped from Dija’s lips before she 
knew. 

“ When you are my age,” he answered, “you will 
understand how much that means to your age. 
There is a big chance between the teens and fifty 
years. Some do their best work before thirty, but 
very few. This manuscript of yours,” he had pro- 
ceeded, tapping Dija’s most precious possession with 
careless finger-tips, “shows, as I said, too much 
promise for you to despair. Observation, humor, 
pathos, and imagination are gifts too rare to waste, 
young lady. But your manuscript, as it stands, is 
crude. Put it by and read it again in ten years’ 
time, and I’ll warrant you’ll agree with me. Don’t 
destroy it. There are things you will use in it, one 
day, if I am not mistaken.” 

Dija’s face crimsoned. Ten years ! It made her 
old to think of it. But the editor, had she known 
it, had put himself out of the way to serve her. 


Triumphs and Failures 303 

“ You have aimed high,” he continued, “ made a 
very ambitious attempt for one so young ; but the 
opinions expressed you yourself will correct by a 
broader experience. Your descriptive bits are 
excellent. Why not leave fiction alone for a time, 
and confine your efforts to describing something 
you know ? Do ; and send your articles to me. I 
promise you that I will at least read them.” 

Dija realized that the editor was showing her 
unusual consideration and encouragement, and 
answered, with self-possession, thanking him. 

I shall take your advice, because I think you 
know,” she said, in her direct fashion, rising 
to go. 

The editor held out his hand. The answer 
seemed to please him. 

“ Don’t be discouraged — write,” he concluded ; 
“ and when an editor says that he means it.” 

Dija had gone home with mingled feelings of 
hopelessness and hope. When she was alone in bed 
she cried for the first time since the day she and her 
mother left their old home at Sevenoaks — a long 
whole-souled cry. 

“Growing feathers hurts,” she said to herself, 
reverting to her wish that she was a full-grown 
bird, with all her feathers of experience on. “ Let 


A Maid of Mettle 


304 

the old folks say what they will, youth has some 
sorrows and mortifications age is exempt from — 
ignorance, for one.” 

The next day she locked the returned manuscript 
beside her battered doll ; then wrote to Myrn. 

“I^ever say die, old Myrn. Aim high. If you 
don’t hit, it’s better than grubbing on your knees ; ” 
which mixed metaphor Myrn evidently understood, 
for he replied by return post, “ You’re a jolly old 
brick. I was feeling grumpy when I got your letter. 
You bet I’ll make a shine ! But it’s precious slow 
work. As Jackie used to say — ‘ Myself is coming 
on.’ ” 

Dija pondered the editor’s words: “Describe 
something you know well,” with the outcome that 
a few weeks later he received an article entitled, 
“ A Sheep Before its Shearers,” in which a sheep- 
shearing scene at Blue Kock was reproduced. 

A few days later Dija and her mother were sit- 
ting together, when a letter came for Dija. She 
tore it open, and jumped up in excitement. 

“ Accepted ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ My dear child, whatever is it ? ” said Mrs. 
Nettlethorpe, plaintively. Dija explained. 

“ I thought at least a new world had been 
created,” replied her mother. 


Triumphs and Failures 305 

“ Oh, mummy, so there has — for me ! ” Dija had 
replied, almost weeping in her pride and joy. “ I 
see the first little star of it shining.” 

Mrs. Nettle thorpe had drawn her near, and with 
a half-timid caress, said : 

“ It will not be the only one, dear. I lost you 
one world — the world your father made you ; but 
you are strong, like he was, and will create new 
conditions for yourself. Can you forgive me, dear, 
for the hardship 1 have brought upon you ? ” 

“ Mother,” was Dija’s reply, “ but for the sorrow 
to you I should be glad. You never knew how 
much I wanted to feel my feet ; to learn what I 
could not know, hemmed in by convention and care. 
Sometimes I think, dear, that it has been too hard 
for you, that I have stood between you and the 
mothering of godmother. To have lived at Black- 
thorne would have been so much nicer for you than 
here.” 

Mrs. Nettlethorpe’s cheeks had flushed. 

“No, no,” she answered; “ it would have killed 
me. It is not possible alwa3^s to receive.” 

The mother and daughter had been at one on 
that point. Their small flat had been furnished 
from the house at Sevenoaks. Their books and 
their own particular knickknacks created the half 


A Maid of Mettle 


illusion of home ; but only half, for with the rent of 
the old house, and other sources, their joint income, 
from being thousands, fell below two hundred a 
year; and to gentlewomen, accustomed to every 
luxury, it took some management to make ends meet. 

Dija took the housekeeping, with other cares, 
upon her shoulders. Her first experiences had 
caused her some amusement, and much mortifica- 
tion. With her abhorrence of the apparent mean- 
ness of economy, she had gone to Whiteley’s and 
ordered on a lavish scale, to the great confusion of 
the monthly allowance. 

It had always been Leonard’s custom to send 
ample baskets of fish and game from wherever he 
happened to be, and these arrived, as of old, with 
fruit and flowers from Blackthorne. Not even 
Dija’s sensitive pride could take objection at what 
had been a lifelong custom. 

The usual visit had been paid in summer, when 
Leonard found a tall girl, with her hair up, and 
dark eyes too sad for her age. 

“ London’s a bit stuffy,” had been her only refer- 
ence to the changed conditions; “and after the 
open spaces, the chimney-pots make one’s eyes 
ache.” 


Triumphs and Failures 307 

The articles to which Mrs. Nettlethorpe referred 
were a series that was following “ A Sheep Before 
its Shearers,” and was entitled “ Glimpses of Old 
London ; ” the sketches were the outcome of those 
rambles with Professor Humphries two years ago. 
Dija had taken many notes, and when the first 
proof-sheets reached the professor, with a request 
from Dija that he would kindly verify their accu- 
racy, his delight was boundless. 

“Wonderfully correct, my dear young lady,” he 
had replied; “I am charmed that you have re- 
tained so vivid a recollection of hours that afforded 
me the greatest pleasure.” Then had followed 
many valuable notes from the professor’s store- 
house of knowledge. 

The articles were attracting some attention. 
Mrs. Hettlethorpe knew that to take Dija away 
from London just now meant damage to her work, 
for she spent many hours of each day in the old 
buildings of which she wrote. 

Hor was it the history of ancient buildings only 
with which she became acquainted, but with many 
odd and unexpected people. The lonely excursions 
in the wild Australian country had corrected any 
nervousness she might have had, and with her 
natural self-possession and strong common sense 


A Maid of Mettle 


308 

she protected herself from danger. Little by little 
she was realizing a life outside her own, gaining its 
facts unconsciously. Its pathos and heroism met 
her in strange forms, and were making the ground- 
work of future “ copy,” for Dija had the three gifts 
without which no writer becomes great — observa- 
tion, imagination, and sympathy, with another 
added — the capacity for taking pains. Her articles 
not only gave an accurate picture of her scene, but 
quaint side-lights were thrown over it. She saw 
with her own eyes, and made others see. 

“ Child,” said Mrs. Hettlethorpe, when they had 
finished tea, and the maid had cleared away, 
‘‘ ought you not to go out for a run ? ” 

Dija, neat as ever, locked her manuscript in her 
desk, rearranged the flowers which the gardener had 
sent in that morning from Blackthorne, then leav- 
ing a reading lamp and a book close at hand, ran 
away to put on her hat and coat. 

“ I shan’t be long,” she said cheerfully. 

She was tired and depressed this evening, and 
walked rather slowly, with the half-intention of en- 
tering the park for a spin. 

It was barely six, and she might take an hour 
this way. She had yet an hour’s reading to pre- 
pare for Dr. Griffiths in the morning. In one way 


Triumphs and Failures 309 

and another the days were fully occupied. It trou- 
bled her sometimes that she had not more idle time 
to spend with her mother, but she did contrive to 
be with her most of the day by working in the 
room where she sat. 

Mrs. Nettlethorpe’s listlessness, her apparent ina- 
bility to rouse to any interest in anything, worried 
Dija continually. 

“Mother’s breaking her heart over Mr. Nettle- 
thorpe’s being the cause of Barbara and me being 
poor. She must go to godmother. I shall tell 
Leonard. She can’t be allowed to get weaker and 
weaker. She is pining to death. I shall write to- 
night.” 

She had paused at the crossing to the park gate 
to allow a hansom-cab to pass. It pulled up sud- 
denly, and a gentleman sprang out. Dija’s heart 
leaped. The young man was by her side instantly. 
Top coat and fur collar and all, Dija knew him. 

“ Leonard ! ” 

“ Sweetheart ! ” 

It was a glad pair of eyes that looked into his. 
Then Leonard looked perturbed. 

“ Why are you out at this hour alone, child ? ” 

“ It has just struck six.” 

“ But,” and Leonard scowled right and left, as 


A Maid of Mettle 


310 

though searching for intending aggressors, ‘‘isn’t 
the maid or some one with you ? This is worse than 
Girton. The governesses would have chaperoned 
you.” 

Dija laughed, and slipped her hand through his 
arm. 

“I thought you were at Mentone with god- 
mother.” 

“ So I was, yesterday ; but I’ve come for Mrs. 
Nettlethorpe. Dija, I think it perfectly shabby 
the way you treat your godmother. She needs the 
companionship of a lady, and you refuse it.” 

“ Don’t say godmother is ill, Leonard ! ” 

How many more reasons would arise why she 
must forego her aim ? 

“ Hot exactly ill, but feeble, and anxious for you 
and your mother. Your father, as you know, was 
her dearest friend, and Mrs. Nettlethorpe has al- 
ways, because of him, had a warm corner in her 
heart. She feels this separation. At no other time 
would Mrs. Nettlethorpe have refused companion- 
ship to my mother.” 

His voice was cold. Dija’s hand fell from his 
arm. 

“It is a conspiracy of circumstance, of— of 
friends,” she blurted out, “ to crush me ; to rob me 



“Leonard !” 


“Sweetheart !” 






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Triumphs and Failures 311 

of the independence which is my right. Why 
should it always be my duty to do the thing I 
hate?’’ 

She turned her angry glance on the face beside 
her. “ I could give in ; give all except that indi- 
vidual part of me which is myself. I have yielded 
my will, submitted everything but my desire to 
make a way for myself in the world — a place that 
shall belong to me by right, and you — you most of 
all, Leonard — put obstacles in my path. There 
must be a reason. Why do you do it ? ” 

His face was very pale. For a moment it seemed 
that he would lose control of himself. Then he 
quietly took Dija’s hand, and put it back on his 
arm. 

“I will not do it any more,” he said gently. 
The tears filled Dija’s eyes at his change of mood. 

“ I think I know,” she said ; “ just because it is 
I, you think it abominable that I should see any- 
thing of hardship or work. If Mr. Hettlethorpe 
had not lost my money, I should have missed real 
knowledge of life.” 

Leonard said something under his breath which 
he would not have liked Dija to hear. But he 
made no further protest. 

When he saw Mrs. Hettlethorpe, his anger 


A Maid of Mettle 


312 

changed to real concern, and while he talked to her 
he realized Dija’s life, the demands upon her vigor, 
her patience, and all that strong, better part of her 
to which he had trusted, but which he fain would 
have had develop without the forcing circum- 
stance. ' 

Mrs. ISTettlethorpe roused the moment Leonard 
made it seem imperative that she should join her 
old friend. He, Leonard, could not conveniently 
remain longer at Mentone. It was judicious that 
his mother should escape the English winter, but 
he could not leave her alone. “ And you know her 
dislike of strangers,” he concluded. 

A faint tinge of color came into the pale cheeks ; 
the tired eyes brightened ; she looked wistfully at 
her tall daughter. 

‘‘ It would be selfish to leave you,” she protested. 
But when Leonard had taken his departure, she per- 
mitted Dija to rummage among her belongings, 
and look at gowns and tea-gowns unworn since 
leaving Sevenoaks. 

‘‘ But, dear,” she urged, “ it is impossible to leave 
you alone.” 

Dija, however, had a suggestion. Dr. Griffiths, 
Leonard’s old coach, whom her godmother had ap- 
pointed as Dija’s tutor, lived with his son’s widow. 


Triumphs and Failures 313 

This lady had received more than one of the doc- 
tor’s pupils on previous occasions. There were six 
months of the engagement still to run. 

“ Perhaps Mrs. Griffiths would put me up.” 

It seemed that she would. She called on Mrs. 
Nettlethorpe next day, and proved to be “ a cheer- 
ful, delightful sort of creature,” Mrs. Nettlethorpe 
declared, “charmed at the prospect of young so- 
ciety.” 

After several long interviews between the two 
ladies, and much solicitous instruction from Mrs. 
JS’ettlethorpe, it was finally arranged. Dija’s piano 
and her own bed and chest of drawers, and numer- 
ous other belongings, were sent to Bloomsbury. 
The rest of the furniture was to be stored after 
Mrs. Nettlethorpe’s departure. 

It struck Dija afterwards that there was a finality 
about these arrangements of her mother’s which 
was scarcely warranted by the prospect of a visit 
of a few months. Had the timid little lady given 
up the unexpected struggle ? 

The week that was occupied with these arrange- 
ments was one of clinging tenderness on the 
mother’s part, and thoughtful devotion on the 
daughter’s. 

Hever at any time bad the dependent nature of 


A Maid of Mettle 


3H 

the woman understood the self-reliance and instinc- 
tive courage of the girl who was eager to test 
her strength against the world from which she 
shrank. 

Dija’s heart throbbed with strange emotion as 
she planned for the going into the sunshine of one 
Avho could not bear the storm. As she came across 
a photograph of Mr. Nettlethorpe, while packing 
her mother’s trunks, she scowled at it. ‘‘Pump- 
kin,” she muttered ; “ a nice squash you made of 
things.” 

****** 

The old doctor and his daughter-in-law were in 
attendance on Dija when she parted with her 
mother at Victoria. 

Mrs. Nettlethorpe nestled into Dija’s arms as 
though she were the child. 

“God bless you, my strong one. You’ve been 
the dearest of girls to me ! ” she murmured. 

Dija’s eyes were so dim that the train moved out 
of the station in a mist, and she could not see 
Leonard waving to her from the window. 


CHAPTER XYIII 


THE FIEST-FEUITS 

Professor Humphries walked up and down 
his study, his tall shoulders more upright than 
usual, his sunken eyes bright, his gray hair pushed 
back from his forehead. His manner showed 
unusual excitement. On his desk lay a pile of 
newspaper cuttings and a large volume. Barbara 
stood by the desk, her face beaming. She touched 
the volume caressingly. 

The History of Kent. By Professor Keith 
Humphries,” she read. “ It looks beautiful.” 

The professor stopped a smile. 

“ Hot so bad, not so bad ! ” he admitted. “ You 
have read the review of The Times ? Yery gratify- 
ing — extremely so. ‘ Profound research,’ I believe 
that was the term ? ” 

“ Profound research,” read Barbara. 

“And the ArchcBologist : ‘We owe Professor 
Humphries a debt of gratitude.’ Yery gratifying — 
extremely so ! ” 

He pushed his hair till it stood on end, and 

blinked hard at Barbara. 

315 


A Maid of Mettle 


316 

“ There ought to be something got for the chil- 
dren — buns, or ginger-beer, or something. It is an 
occasion.’’ 

He sighed, and went to the window and looked 
out into the grayness of the winter afternoon. 

“ The work of twenty years,” he said. 

Barbara slipped to his side, and linked her arm 
through his. “ Profound research,” she heard him 
murmur. 

“ How old are you, child ? ” he asked her pres- 
ently. 

“ Almost eighteen,” she answered. 

“ Are you, indeed ? You and the book have 
grown up together. I began it when your mother 
left me, twenty years ago. It occupied my thoughts. 
‘A debt of gratitude.’ Yery gratifying. We 
must certainly have buns.” 

Barbara leaned her bright young head against his 
shoulder, half laughing, half crying. 

“ We don’t want anything,” she said, “ except to 
share your honor and gladness. And now, dear, 
that all this toil and waiting is over, oughtn’t you 
to go away somewhere for a change and rest ? ” 

“ Oh dear no ; certainly not ! ” 

“ But yes, you should, uncle. Why not join the 
Haynes at Mentone ? They would be charmed.” 


The First-Fruits 


317 

“ Profound research ” — he murmured again — 
“ twenty years.-’ He crossed to the bell and rang 
it. Presently Mrs. Grirnby appeared. 

“ Let there be buns and ginger-beer for tea, Mrs. 
Grirnby ; and get something for yourself, please.” 

Mrs. Grirnby stared. 

“ My best respects to you, sir, but ain’t you feel- 
ing well ? ” 

“ The children will enjoy the ginger-beer,” was 
the response. 

“ O, leave ’um alone for that ! ” replied Mrs. 
Grirnby ; “ but if I may make so bold, it ain’t good 
for ’um — leastways, not in this cold weather, an’ Miss 
Lizzie-Bess so given to chill, an’ Master Jack mustn’t 
have it, as he’s gettin’ ’is throat trained for ’is de- 
1)00. Mr. Barton’s instructions was very particlur. 
They’d best stick to wholesome honey an’ bread 
an’ milk. Here is Mr. Barton, sir, cornin’ to see 
you.” 

“ Permit my congratulations,” said Mr. Barton, 
taking the professor’s hand. “ I have just read the 
great news. I am so heartily, heartily glad.” 

Mrs. Grirnby closed the door, and sank down into 
a chair in the hall. 

“ O lor ! ” she ejaculated, ‘‘ master’s goin’ to get 
married ! Ginger-beer an’ buns an’ something for 


A Maid of Mettle 


318 

yourself, Mrs. Grimby, please ; an’ ’im lookin’ that 
delighted ! I’ll lose me situation. ‘ Allow me to 
congratulate you on the great occasion.’ That’s it 
— ’e’s goin’ to get married, an’ ’im turned sixty.” 

Mrs. Grimby went slowly up to the nursery, as 
though to view the situation from that point of 
view. The room had been recarpeted and partly 
refurnished. Barbara’s books and violin (which 
lay boldly on the piano), Barbara’s work-basket, 
and Elizabeth’s doll, gave hints of its occupancy. 

“ An’ me got so used to it all ! ” sighed Mrs. 
Grimby. 

“ There is no luck about the house,” whistled 
Polly. 

“ There’s been more than I expected. But this 
finishes everything,” murmured Mrs. Grimby. 

‘‘ What finishes everything ? ” asked Barbara, 
from the doorway. 

Mrs. Grimby started, and began to mend the fire. 

“ The great occasion. Miss Barbara. It’s come as 
a bit of a shock.” 

“Shock! You ought to have expected it any 
time this last ten years. Did you think it was go- 
ing on forever ? ” 

“ I didn’t even know of the engagement. Miss 
Barbara.” 


The First-Fruits 


319 

“ But you saw the professor writing every 
day.’’ 

“ Certain sure, I did, an’ struv to keep the house 
quiet. But who was to know it was to a lady ? I 
thought it was a book.” 

‘‘Writing to a lady for twenty years! Why, 
what are you talking about, Mrs. Griinby ? ” 

“ Of the great occasion. Miss Barbara. Would 
you tell me what you are talking of ? ” 

“ Of the professor’s book. It is out, and a great 
success.” 

Mrs. Grimby stared, then for the second time 
flopped into a chair. 

“ An’ is the buns for that f ” 

“For nothing else. Isn’t the occasion great 
enough ? ” 

Mrs. Grimby rose. 

“ It seems as though I was gettin’ muddle-’edded. 
The book a success! Lor, bless the master, ’e’s 
lived with it years an’ years ! Them lambs shall 
have such a tea that’ll make their eyes dance. I 
must tell this news to Grimby. There was times 
when ’im an’ me thought the master would be done 
before ’is book.” 

Mrs. Grimby paused at the study door on her 
way to the kitchen. All was quiet. 


320 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Come in,” answered the professor to her knock. 

She made an old-fashioned curtsey. 

“ My best respects to you, sir,” she said huskily. 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Grimby. It is very gratifying 
— extremely so.” 

“ Now then, Grimby, ’ustle around, ’eat up the 
oven, then whisk up ’arf a dozen eggs; there’s 
goin’ to be ’ot cakes an’ ’igh jinks for the nursery 
tea.” 

Mr. Barton sat in Barbara’s drawing-room later 
in the day, talking to her about Jackie. The 
professor walked back and forth in the frosty 
moonlit garden ; his shadow appeared and disap- 
peared. While he talked. Mi;. Barton’s eyes rested 
first on the fair face of the girl before him, then 
followed the moving figure outside. 

Barbara looked at Mr. Barton from her shadowy 
corner. She saw him always as she had seen him 
that May day, eighteen months ago, when he had 
subjugated the crowd by the power of his genius. 
She had never lost her reverent awe of him. To 
meet with one who accomplishes all one’s dreams, 
who does the thing which is the highest of one’s 
conception, is a humbling, but delightful thing. 
And the master violinist stood to Barbara as the 


The First-Fruits 


321 


greatest of men. Her wonder had always been 
that he could condescend to the simplicities of daily 
comradeship ; that he should enjoy the companion- 
ship of Jackie, and feel enthusiasm over every 
small success of the lad. To young eyes, adoring, 
yet covetous of genius, the early struggle of a 
famous man is unseen. But to-night was to enlarge 
Barbara’s vision. 

Mr. Barton looked again at the professor’s pass- 
ing figure. 

‘‘ It is his hour of realization,” he said, in a low 
tone ; ‘‘he has touched his shore. Hope, effort, 
anticipation, fear, lie like an ocean behind him. 
He has reached his promised land.” 

The dark eyes were soft and sad. Barbara felt a 
thrill of the feeling which moved the man. 

“ Does it mean so much ? ” she asked, softly. 

“ Much ? ” He drew in his breath, seemed about 
to say something which he checked, then added, 
“ but it is not all. If to-night he had been alone 
with his success he would have missed its happi- 
ness.” 

“ Ah ! that is good of you ! ” exclaimed Barbara. 
She had always feared that their coming had 
marred his peace. 

“ Do you suppose that work is everything to a 


A Maid of Mettle 


322 

worker ? ” Mr. Barton asked, looking Barbara full 
in the face. ‘‘ Ask Professor Humphries.” 

Barbara glanced at the stooping figure as it 
passed the window, and with a rush of compassion, 
she cried : 

“To me it is tragedy. Think of it. To give all 
one’s life to gain an end ! ” 

Mr. Barton’s deep voice was brusque. 

“ It depends upon the point striven for. If it be 
for the good of the world it is sometimes martyr- 
dom. But there is a greater tragedy than to spend 
a life, and win. To strive and fail.” 

Barbara trembled. 

“ Don’t,” said she ; “ it hurts to think of it ; ” 
and she put her hands before her eyes, as though to 
shut out a painful sight. 

“ Success is not always to the strong, although it 
is seldom to the weak. Miss Barbara, and the indi- 
vidual must not be judged so much by success or 
failure as by the quality of his endeavor. There 
are few prizes, and many competitors in life. Some 
miss by a point. But to see the promised land, and 
never enter, is sadder than not to know there is a 
land of fruit and honey.” 

“ But you have entered, Mr. Barton.” 

He turned from the window with a smile. 


The First-Fruits 


323 

“Yes,” he said, “yes;” and played with the 
fringe of Barbara’s needlework. 

“The greatest Kedeemer the world had was 
crucified,” he said, as though speaking to himself ; 
“ yet with the shadow of the Cross upon His path 
He said : ‘ Follow after Me.’ Strange. He must 
have thought a crown of thorns better than no 
crown at all.” 

Barbara did not break his reverie. But in a flash 
she got the great truth of life — that a crown was 
woven of thorns. While her fingers stitched quietly, 
her thoughts were busy. Unremitting labor, self- 
repression; these were some of the thorns that 
went to make the crowns men and women fought 
for and toward which covetous eyes were turned. 

“ Ho,” said Barbara ; “ it would be too hard for 
me.” 

The words were below her breath. Mr. Barton 
did not hear them. His mood changed. 

“ Has the professor told you that he has handed 
Jackie over to me ? ” 

That doesn’t want telling ; it is evident,” replied 
Barbara, smilingly. 

“Yes, it is quite decided. Jackie is to be a mu- 
sician. Professor Humphries will be the real guard- 
ian ; I, the trainer, so to speak. All my life. Miss 


A Maid of Mettle 


3H 

Barbara — or that portion of it which is known — I 
have wanted a Jackie to experiment upon. He is 
to embody my theories. Where I go for the next 
few years Jackie is to go also. Selfish, eh ? ” 

Mr. Barton looked keenly at Barbara. Her face 
paled. 

“ Give Jackie up ? Oh, Mr. Barton ! ” 

“ Yes, I knew you’d hate me for it.” 

The professor came in just then, and Barbara 
slipped away. Her heart was full. Donning coat 
and hat, she escaped from the house and walked 
briskly to the sea-front. The familiar brightness of 
Beach Street was dim to her tearful eyes, the fish- 
ermen gave her greeting in vain. It was a perfect 
night. The moon and stars were bright, and far 
out on the Downs a long line of fishing boats, with 
lighted lamps, made the waters ruddy. The little 
town had become home. Every sight, every sound, 
was fanliliar. She thought of her first coming, her 
dread of loneliness, of how wonderfully the hard 
parts had been smoothed over ; and now, when the 
professor and themselves were at one, when there 
was prospect of years of union and peace, was she 
to be called upon to “ face fact ” again, and this 
time the fact of separation ? What was right ? 
What would father say? Yet had not her father, 


The First-Fruits 


325 

by constituting the professor their guardian, con- 
sented beforehand to what he thought best ? 

She knew that it was a great, a tremendous 

chance for Jackie, but 

Mr. Barton joined her. He walked beside her as 
he had done the night of Dija’s home-coming, so 
unobtrusively, that she scarcely knew he was there. 

“I know you’ll hate me,” he said quietly. “It 
seems to you that I am robbing your nest. The 
professor and I have talked it over continually. 
There are reasons why your uncle is willing to con- 
sent. One is that he is growing old. Another is 
that Jackie is a born songster. And if I can help 
him — and before I presumed to incur the responsi- 
bility, I was sure of that. Miss Clare — and if I can 
help him it may, perhaps, save him struggle later 
on. He will not always be away from you ; only 
when I am away ; and Greystone House and Grey- 
stone Lodge are connected with underground pas- 
sages, you know.” 

Barbara commanded her voice. 

“I understand all it means, and how fortunate 

Jack is ; but he’s such a little lad ” 

“ To be away from home, from your care ? ” in- 
terrupted Mr. Barton. “ But it won’t be so, abso- 
lutely ; and he will be my sacred charge. Your 


A Maid of Mettle 


326 

wishes — where they do not clash with my purpose 
concerning him, which is the making of his future 
career, I earnestly hope — your wishes will be our law. 

“ Miss Barbara,” continued Mr. Barton, “ the lad 
is dear to me — dearer than any one has ever been, 
except one — my wife.” 

“ Your wife ? ” exclaimed Barbara, surprised into 
an expression of surprise. 

“ You did not know. It is not spoken of. She 
was a mere girl, and I little more than a boy. 
We were very poor. She did not live to share my 
success.” 

There was silence between them, except for the 
sighing of the sands on the shingle, and down on the 
shore the whistling of a solitary fisherboy. They 
were walking toward the sandhills, and were alone 
on the path. 

Barbara touched his arm in mute sympathy. 

“ There was no one to give a helping hand. It 
was a desperate struggle. Those years are not 
known to the world.” 

“ Thank you ; I understand. I know now what 
you mean. You want to save another boy from 
the bitterness. But suppose you are mistaken — 
suppose Jackie will not make a great singer, after 
all.” 


The First-Fruits 


3^7 

“ I am as certain of it as that the lark rises to the 
sky. And you shall have the proof, Miss Barbara. 
I will show you that I am justified — an unpreju- 
diced audience shall judge for you.” 


CHAPTEE XIX 
dija’s freedom 

“ It’s so interesting,” Leonard read. ‘‘ At first it 
was something confusing — I mean the menage at 
Bloomsbury. But that’s beginning at the end, isn’t 
it ? Bad style. But style doesn’t matter when I’m 
writing to you. You’re not an editor. I can in- 
dulge in mental dishabille. 

“Doctor Grifiiths and his daughter-in-law took 
possession of me when mother’s train went. At 
least, Mrs. Griffiths did. You know her smiling, 
bland, pacific manner. She took my hand, and 
patted it, and patted it till the cab stopped at a 
gloomy house in Bloomsbury. (I hate being 
patted ; besides her hand is as moist and fiat as a 
flounder.) 

“The door was opened (you’re on your honor, 
mind, not to tell mummy ; she was not well 
enough to call, and has no idea what the Griffiths’ 
establishment is like), by a small slavey, with 
a smudged face (she looked as though she had 

been disturbed in eating treacle, and had rubbed 
328 


Dija^s Freedom 329 

the back of her hand hastily across her mouth). 
She wore a smudged gown and a smudged apron. 
She had the smuggiest appearance of any person 
I have ever seen — even in mind. She gave you the 
idea of being dingy. 

“ ‘ Why didn’t you answer the first ring ? ’ asked 
her mistress. 

‘‘ ‘ ’Cause you rung the second so soon, Mrs. 
Martha,’ she replied. ‘ I hadn’t time to.’ 

“‘Well, bring tea,’ responded Mrs. Martha, still 
smiling. 

“ ‘ Where to, ma’am — into the ’all, ma’am ? ’ 
‘“Into the hall! No, of course not, Matilda. 
Into the drawing-room.’ 

“ ‘ O,’ said Matilda, ‘ we ’as it anywhere, usually. 
But we can’t ’ave it in the droring-room ’cause the 
doors is locked, an’ I can’t find the key.’ 

“‘Yes, yes, of course; it must be seen to,’ an- 
swered Mrs. Martha. 

“ That is a by- word here — it must be seen to. I 
wouldn’t have believed in one small house so many 
things wanted ‘ seeing to ’ — from the doctor’s shirt- 
buttons to the butcher’s bills. ‘ S’m’other time,’ as 
Betts used to say, is the only time Mrs. Martha 
knows anything about. 

“ On the way up-stairs I met a candlestick — evi- 


A Maid of Mettle 


330 

dently left there by Matilda in one of her absent- 
minded moments — an empty coal-scuttle, and a 
dustpan. 

‘‘ ‘ The place is in a bit of a clutter,’ apologized 
Matilda, gathering up the coal-scuttle and the 
candlestick. ‘ I’ve been druv to get through. The 
missis was anxious things should ’ave a thorough 
sortin’ before you came, miss ; but worst of it is I 
can’t find ’arf of ’um.’ 

“ ‘ Why don’t you keep “ them ” in their 
places ? ’ 

“ She stared at me in amazement. 

“‘Places? Well, I can’t. If master calls for a 
thing, or missis, I take it to ’um. ‘ Bring me a kettle 
of ’ot water,’ ’e ses, an’ ’e ’as it.’ 

“ ‘ But why don’t you take the hot water in a 
jug, and leave the kettle in the kitchen ? ’ I sug- 
gested. 

“ ‘ So I might,’ she agreed. ‘ Lor ! What a ’ed 1 ’ 
she added, admiringly. ‘ An’ when ’e calls for a 
scuttle of coals, I might take the coals to the scuttle, 
mightn’t I ? Lor ! What a savin’ of legs ! ’Ere’s 
your ’ot water, miss, an’ if you don’t mind. I’ll ’ave 
the kettle, the missis will be wantin’ tea.’ 

“ What a tea that was ! We had it in the dining- 
room, to which had gravitated most of the articles 


Dija’s Freedom 331 

most in demand in the house. A bottle of boot- 
polish stood on the piano, ready for use. Hand- 
some bronze ornaments on the mantelpiece were 
used as receptacles for twine, brushes, newspapers, 
etc. Old china — I thought of yours at your flat — 
was used for a variety of purposes — one gem of a 
cup as an ink-pot. 

“ Ho ; Mrs. Martha is not a ‘ writing woman,’ as 
your letter asks. She is that ideal personage, a 
fireside ornament — only the fireside does want 
blackleading. 

“Well, I set to work, and by bribing ’Tilda 
managed to get my own two rooms habitable. (I 
forgot to tell you that our first tea was served on a 
china tray of one pattern, and odd cups and saucers 
of other patterns, all of quite decent china. When 
the house was first furnished — I think in the old 
days of Dr. Griffiths’ wife, Avhen godmother re- 
members him — it was furnished with taste and 
elegance.) Where was I? Oh, tea. Well, the fire 
smoked so dreadfully we sat in a murky fog — 
murkier and smokier than any London can produce 
in its Hovember-est streets. Mrs. Martha sat like 
an indistinctly-seen spirit of benevolence, smiling 
and sipping tea, telling me how charmed she was to 
see me under her roof (read smoke). Her mind had 


A Maid of Mettle 


332 

touched mine in the realms of thought. I instinc- 
tively put my hand to my forehead to feel if the 
contact had left a mark there. But the dear old 
doctor coughed painfully. His eyes were quite 
red-rimmed. 

“ ‘ The smoke, my dear Martha, is oppressive ; 
disagreeable to Miss Danvers. Might I suggest an 
open window ? ’ 

“ ‘ Wouldn’t a chimney-sweep be more effectual ? ’ 
I asked my tutor. 

‘‘ ‘ Lor, what a ’ed ! ’ interjected my grimy ad- 
mirer, dropping spoons. She had come to clear 
away the tea. Stooping to pick up the spoons, she 
knocked over the cake ; gathering up the fragments, 
she put several in her mouth, and disappeared 
munching. Have you ever seen anybody shut the 
door with their foot? Well, Matilda does. In un- 
dress she wears yellow list slippers, and she puts a 
foot like a large duck’s foot round the door, and 
draws it to after her. It’s real clever. You try it. 
I’ve practiced it for hours without success. 

“ Now I’ve got to go all the way back to the 
bribing of Matilda to help me arrange my rooms. 
The result was homey and comfory. 

“‘Well \ am blowed, blowed if I ain’t!’ w^as 
Matilda’s admiring criticism. I intimated that I 


Dija’s Freedom 333 

didn’t like meeting candlesticks and coalscuttles on 
the staircase and in the hall, and she said she’d 
know the reason why if the clutter wasn’t cleared 
away. She began ‘ right then,’ as the Americans 
would say (I dote on Americans), but it unfortu- 
nately happened that the doctor was taking an airing 
at the front door, and as Matilda never carries any- 
thing down-stairs that can possibly be thrown, a 
large door-mat hit the doctor with such force in the 
back that he was jerked violently to the curb, where 
he lost his spectacles. 

‘‘ Matilda brushed on, serenely singing : 

“ ‘ I dreamt that I dwelt in marbl’ ’alls, 

With vassels and serfs at my si-ii-de, 

And of all the— something — within those walls. 

I was the joy and the pri-ii-de.’ 

“ The doctor picked up his spectacles, polished 
and put them on, staring in the direction whence 
came the door-mat, murmuring (you know his 
way) : 

‘ Bless my heart ! Dear me ! ’ 

“ Matilda’s voice assured him, 

. . but I love you still the sa-ame. ’ 

“ Thrills on the ‘ same ! ’ 

“We don’t have meals; we have snacks. Meals 


A Maid of Mettle 


334 

are too methodical for Mrs. Martha’s comprehen- 
sion. A snack can be taken any hour, anywhere, 
and may consist of anything from an ox to a bath- 
bun. Matilda partakes according to appetite and 
opportunity. The supply is generous, but the serv- 
ice unique. 

“ ‘ I calls it fudge,’ Matilda confided to me, 
‘movin’ the meals all round the clock. Give me 
the vittles at proper time, an’ I can cook right 
enough. The last place I was in I often slapped a 
duck into the oven.’ There you have Matilda’s 
method. 

“ So proud has Matilda become of the clean stair- 
case and my sanctum, that I find the situation 
embarrassing, for she has taken to show visitors in. 

“ ‘ Go in there,’ she will say, and the yellow felt 
foot draws the door to before one can protest. 

“ And what oddities the doctor’s friends are, and 
how learned are some. Leonard, can you picture a 
large, dingy, once handsomely-furnished dining- 
room, more or less in a state of chaos — frequently 
more — crowded sometimes in the evening with men 
of ability, some of repute, among whom sit Martha 
and your old chum — Martha bland and contented, 
with her evening bodice what Matilda calls ‘ conny 
wessen,’ which I take to mean corner-wise, and 


Dija’s Freedom 335 

her hair looking as though she had forgotten 
to brush it ? Yet I revel in those evenings. Some 
of these men are men of letters, and to sit and listen 
to their arguments is as good as the morning’s read- 
ing with the doctor. Dear old man ! He seems 
perfectly happy with the even flow of confusion. 
He maintains his mental equilibrium though the 
house may fall. I have heard him dictate a lead- 
ing article for The Times amid the dehris of an 
over-night reception. 

“ The afternoons are usually spent in outings. 
Mrs. Martha invariably chaperons me. If I don’t 
get the chance to fix her before we start, she is very 
corner-wise before we return. I have made friends 
with one or two most interesting women. One is 
a journalist. Grind ? I believe you ! She’s such a 
sweet, and knows more about politics than you do. 

“ Leonard — thoughts come that I cannot express — 
to have seen and known the lives of working 
gentlewomen — the real lives, with their real strug- 
gles, is to be grateful. The heroism, the large 
doing of small things ! It tugs at one’s heart. If 
ever I am rich again, and famous — well, I want 
power as much as ever, but I want it for a purpose. 
Don’t groan, for as Matilda sings — ‘ I love you still 
the same.’ Dija. 


A Maid of Mettle 


336 

“ P. S. — Have just heard from Mr. Fosbrey that 
he and Myrn will be in London for Christmas. 
J oily, isn’t it ? Di.” 

Leonard’s reply reached Dija several days later. 
She was writing in her sitting-room at the close of 
a dreary day, when she was feeling a strange sense of 
loneliness. Usually she was too busy for sentiment. 
She kept the bright, active side of her temperament 
to the fore, but this afternoon a dull aching, almost 
like physical pain, made itself felt in longing for 
the companionship of those dearest to her. 

“ I wish some one would come — or a letter,” she 
said, pushing aside her manuscript. “ That’s the 
worst of seeming independent; every one takes 
you at your word.” 

As though conjured by a fairy wand, Matilda ap- 
peared, bearing a letter on a salver. Dija seized 
it eagerly, but Matilda was not to be defrauded of 
the coveted opportunity for an exchange of ideas 
with her idol, whom she had scarcely seen all day. 
Besides, she was what she termed “ got up.” In 
some of Dija’s cast-off garments, she looked such a 
comical caricature of Dija’s self, that it was only by 
an effort Dija kept from laughing. She had imi- 
tated Dija’s way of loosely twisting her hair at her 


Dija’s Freedom 337 

neck, and fastening it with a bright ribbon. But 
whereas Dija’s hair Avas abundant in its dark, rip- 
pling beauty, and the ribbon was rich and soft, and 
tied in an artistic knot, Matilda’s was drab and 
scanty. But what she lacked in hair she made up 
in ribbon, Avhich stuck out and crackled in a huge 
bow, drawn out at the back of her two ears. Dija’s 
neck being long and graceful, and Matilda’s short, 
the young lady’s cast-off collars gave Matilda the 
appearance of peering over a well-starched fence. 

Matilda blinked admiringly at her tall young 
mistress. 

“ Lor ! ” she said, “ it is nice gettin’ letters from 
foreign parts. I read the postmark, and saAv that 
it was foreign. Is that where the snakes is, miss ? ” 

“ 1^0 ; there are no snakes in Mentone — at least 
not those that crawl. There might be some two- 
footed ones.” 

“ Lor ! They’d look a bit ridic’lous, sort of walkin’ 
on their tails. It brings a bit of change inter life 
goin’ abroad. I sometimes think I’ll work me pas- 
sage out. Lightin’ fires and washin’ dishes do get 
that mernotonous. I get down in me sperrits. I 
said so to the missis this mornin’, an’ she laffed. I 
give her a reluctant look, an’ walked off.” 

Dija wished she would walk off now. 


A Maid of Mettle 


338 

“Pm not as unambitious as I was before you 
came, miss. I’m tryin’ to rise.” She opened the 
door, paused with her hand on the knob, and turned, 
with a bashful grin. 

“ I’m tryin’ me ’and at literatoor. I found 
poetry too ’ard. I’m Avritin’ a book.” 

She disappeared — all but her foot. It lingered a 
moment, then the absurd head reappeared round 
the crack. 

“ I’m takin’ Mrs. Martha off,” she said. 

Dija recollected her otvn first aspirations to write 
a book and show Mr. Hettlethorpe up in it. 

She turned with a smile to Leonard’s letter. The 
smile deepened as she read. Her godmother and 
mother were better, enjoying the sunshine ; every 
day there Avere excursions in the open air. They 
thought and talked of “ the ambitious one ” con- 
tinually. In the 'New Year Leonard proposed 
“ running over ” to verify her statement that she 
Avas happy and Avell. Then folloAved anxious in- 
quiries, injunctions to regard her health, and 
through the Avhole letter was a tone new to Dija — 
a deference to her Avishes most pleasing to the young 
autocrat. 

Two Aveeks passed before Leonard received an 
answer. Then he read : 


339 


Dija’s Freedom 

“ This is ‘ an open letter ’ for the honored company 
at Mentone. I have written to mummy, for her 
private ear. 

“I had read, marked, and inwardly digested 
your letter the drear December day it arrived 

drear December ’ is not original), when my under- 
study, Matilda, flung the door open. 

“ ‘Go in there,’ she said, and vanished. 

“ I turned, to see Mr. Fosbrey and Myrn. Mr. 
Fosbrey was smiling ; Myrn blushing. Mr. Fosbrey 
was looking half-sad, Myrn half-shy. They are 
both fine men, father and son, and their frock- 
coated, silk-hatted propriety could not conform 
them — or deform ? — into the dandy of the drawing- 
room. 

“ Myrn had come to say good-bye. He is throw- 
ing up his career. — which promises so brilliantly — 
to go back to Australia and offer himself as an 
Australian Bushman for South Africa. The war- 
fever has fired his blood. 

“ I wept with pride and fear — pride in him, and 
fear for him ; and when I remembered that I called 
him a mullet-head and a mug, I blushed under the 
bedclothes. I can only see him now as I saw him 
riding on the lonely Victorian plains, with far- 
seeing eyes, sitting his horse as though he were 


A Maid of Mettle 


340 

part of it, going forth in the morning with the tin 
billy strapped to his saddle, to muster cattle way out 
beyond the boundaries. 

“ Mr. Fosbrey said nothing except : 

“ ‘ He is my only son,’ and looked at him with 
sorrow and pride. But he gives his money and his 
hope loyally. Myrn and I had a talk together be- 
tween our two selves. He is what the Scotch 
would call ‘ bonnie.’ 

“ I’ve got that horrid choky lump in my throat, 
you know. 

“ ‘ I wonder if you’ll like me better in khaki than 
in a dress suit,’ he said. 

“ The lump in my throat hurts. 

“ Well, we had a party. Events all tumbled to- 
gether. Barbara and the kiddies, the professor and 
Mr. Barton, came to town for Jackie’s public dehut. 
He was to sing on Hew Year’s Eve at St. Martin’s. 
The darling doctor and the impossible Mrs. Martha, 
to say nothing of the emotional Matilda, were 
thrown into mingled ecstasy and distress by the 
double occasion of rejoicing over Jackie and grief 
over Myrn. Mrs. Martha had known neither previ- 
ously, but she can weep with those who weep, and 
rejoice with those who rejoice, at a moment’s no- 
tice. But nothing will induce her to brush her 


341 


Dija’s Freedom 

hair, or sew the buttons on her gloves. She is as 
much averse to progression as Lizzie-Bess, who, 
though a little taller, declares : 

“ ‘ I do not like being big. My little self did not 
have lessons. I am Uncle Humphy’s small one. I 
have seven dolls.’ 

“ And Jack is only older — not much changed. 

“ Barbara tells me they had their first serious 
quarrel the other day. They set out, hand in hand, 
for a walk to Upper Deal, and coming to the old 
church, wandered in the graveyard, and discussed 
tombstones. Jackie declared that when Barbara 
died she should have a magnificent tomb of marble. 
But Lizzie-Bess said no. 

“ ‘ Barbara do’ like tombs ; she shall have a cross 
and roses.’ 

“ The argument waxed so hot that they missed 
the lunch hour, and came home later, still hand in 
hand, but bitterly opposed, and took their difficulty 
to Barbara. With an arm of Jackie round one 
side of her neck, and an arm of Lizzie-Bess round 
the other, she listened to one side of the story with 
one ear and the other side with the other, and set- 
tled the matter by saying : 

“ ‘ I shall neither have tomb nor cross. I am not 
going to die.’ 


342 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ ‘ There,’ said Jack, ‘ I told you so, Lizzie-Bess. 
Barbara is not going to die.’ 

“ ‘ I do’ care,’ responded Elizabeth, ‘ I do’ like to 
die, too.’ 

“ It brought back that other time when we were 
all together in London — how differently. Things 
never happen the same twice over. 

“ But I must tell you of New Year’s Eve. 

“It was ‘between the dark and the daylight,’ 
what Longfellow calls ‘ the children’s hour,’ that 
we found ourselves in the dimly-lighted aisles of St. 
Marten’s. 

“ The church was crowded. The Christmas dec- 
orations had not yet been removed, and the light 
fell softly on the red holly berries and palms. Mr. 
Fosbrey, Myrn, Barbara, the professor, the doctor, 
Mrs. Martha, and I were together. 

“ The service was Evensong. More song than 
prayer, and it was when the air was electric with 
harmony and emotion, that a fair-haired, white- 
robed lad sang : 

“ ‘ AngeU ever hrighi and fair. ^ 

“I can’t tell you about it— I have no words. 
There was a great hush, and the one small boy ; 
then music that lifted one into a spirit world. 


Dija’s Freedom 343 

One did not know, sometimes, which was the voice 
and which was Mr. Barton’s violin. 

“ ‘ Take^ oh take me to thy care.' 

“In the hush that followed a painful cry rang 
out : 

“ ‘ No, I do’ want the angels to have my Jackie ! ’ 

“ And Lizzie-Bess was not the only one weeping. 

“Afterwards we had a party. It was an im- 
^omptu party. Mrs. Martha asked everybody on 
the impulse of the moment. The professor, Mr. 
Barton, Mr. Fosbrey, Myrn, Barbara, the boy hero 
of the hour, and his inseparable Lizzie-Bess. The 
doctor eagerly seconded the motion. He went one 
better. It was to be a dinner-party. The hour 
was then six ; the guests were invited for eight. 

“ I felt myself grow hot. How out of the chaos 
was Mrs. Martha to serve a dinner for eight in two 
hours’ time ? 

“ Arrived at Bloomsbury, there was no answer to 
our ring. Matilda was out. My latchkey was 
useless, for Matilda had gone out the back way and 
bolted the front door. 

“ ‘ Here’s a how-de-do,’ said Mrs. Martha. 

“ ‘ Dear me,’ said the doctor ; ‘ bless my heart ! ’ 

“I said nothing. The situation was beyond 


A Maid of Mettle 


344 

words. Were we a helpless trio to stand upon the 
doorstep and receive our guests like veritable black- 
legs, who had got the ‘ lock-out ’ ? 

“ ‘ It’s very extraordinary,’ said the doctor, pres- 
ently. It was. Things were always Qxirdiordinary 
at Bloomsbury. 

“ Into the lamplight the thrice- welcome figure of 
Matilda appeared. She made a bright spot on the 
landscape, wearing a maroon-colored dress, and a 
magenta hat trimmed with red roses. 

“ Never had the dark passage seemed so home- 
like. 

“ Matilda struck a match. But it was a mistake 
of Mrs. Martha to tell her about the party before 
the gas was lit. She dropped the match and the 
matchbox, and left the gas escaping. The doctor 
and I, stooping to recover the matches, bumped 
heads in the darkness. In the light the confusion 
looked hopeless ; fires were out, rooms in confusion. 
I yearned for Barbara, with her clever hands. 

“Aproned to my chin, I tackled the drawing- 
room, and sent the doctor for great bunches of yel- 
low and brown chrysanthemums. These gave quite 
a festive air to the room. I made a glorious fire, 
and trimmed and lit the lamps (blessing Australia 
that I knew how). 


Dija’s Freedom 34 j; 

“ The dining-room and dinner were under the 
very special care of Mrs. Martha, and the dinner 
was arriving in detachments from a restaurant and 
a confectioner’s. 

“ Some magnificent silver — dull and unpolished — 
was unearthed at the eleventh moment. There was 
no time to clean it. I had just time to get into an 
evening frock and reach the drawing-room, where 
Mrs. Martha stood smiling, in one of her crookedly- 
donned crushed party gowns, when a ring an- 
nounced the first arrival. 

“ It was Professor Humphries. 

“ ‘ Go in there,’ said Matilda, and opening the 
drawing-room door, she literally pushed the pro- 
fessor into the room, hatted and gloved and coated 
as he was. 

“ ‘ I — er — beg your pardon,’ he apologized ; ‘ if I 
might be permitted to remove my coat ’ 

“But before he finished his apology, the door 
opened and shut again hurriedly, and muffled 
to his chin in his fur coat, stood Mr. Barton, 
his big dark eyes looking out merrily over the 
collar. 

“He bowed gravely to Mrs. Martha, looking 
rather alarmed, I thought, at the rakish -looking 
bird-of-paradise wobbling in her hair. The doctor 


A Maid of Mettle 


346 

entered at this moment, gravely serene, with his 
spectacles on his forehead. 

‘‘I left the gentlemen’s coats to his care, and 
hearing another ring, went into the hall to save, if 
possible, further catastrophe, and found Mr. Fosbrey 
and Myrn standing in the dark, and Matilda con- 
ducting Barbara and the kiddies up-stairs, the hall 
lamp in her hand. She paused, and looked over 
the banisters, and pointed to the drawing-room 
door. 

“ ‘ In there,’ she directed in a hoarse whisper ; 
‘ go — in — there.’ 

“ The dinner was unique. We had the courses in 
the order they happened to arrive. Matilda out- 
Matildad herself. She had arranged the table dec- 
orations. To my horror I saw they were composed 
of two widths of yellow Liberty muslin, ar- 
ranged in the form of a cross, finished at the ends 
with small plates of pink biscuits. I doubt if Mrs. 
Martha saw ; she sat at the head of the table, 
beaming on the company, oblivious of their needs, 
of the mixed dinner-service, but roused occasionally 
to the eccentricities of Matilda. 

“ Matilda had lost her head. During soup she 
stood in a corner of the room and dropped spoons. 
She seemed to have an idea that extra spoons 


347 


Dija’s Freedom 

would be called for. When she had dropped them 
all, she gathered them up and dropped them all 
over again. Jackie, the clever pet ! shouldn’t have 
been there till dessert; neither should Elizabeth, 
equally, of course. But there they were, presiding 
over the feast, Jackie at Mrs. Martha’s right hand, 
and Lizzie-Bess on the left, their eyes big with 
wonder. 

“Lizzie-Bess was fascinated by Matilda, and I 
shivered for remarks when Matilda, having dropped 
the spoons twice over, sidled to the door. 

“ ‘ Matilda,’ called Mrs. Martha, in a stage whis- 
per, ‘ take away the plates.’ 

“ ‘ She’s got the choke,’ said Elizabeth ; ‘ her col- 
lar’s too fit.’ 

“ Barbara looked like a dove. She sat between Mr. 
Barton and Myrn. How well the children under- 
stood those gentle glances of hers, and refused the 
dishes, one after another. As dinner proceeded, 
the talk grew interesting, and Matilda, getting over 
her nervousness, became absorbed. 

“Mr. Fosbrey was telling a snake story, when 
Matilda, fascinated, instead of handing the cauli- 
flower to Myrn, rested the dish on his shoulder. 

“ I met Myrn’s eye. He winked. Mr. Barton 
caught the situation, and said something, at which 


A Maid of Mettle 


348 

we were free to laugh. We roared. I could have 
hugged Mr. Barton. We just laughed till we felt 
better. From the moment Mr. Barton had entered 
the house, he had been dying to laugh. Myrn 
threw back his head like he used to do when he 
was a boy, and showed his white teeth. It’s a 
shame such a handsome young man is going to the 
war, perhaps never to come back. If I had the 
making of the army, I would gather all the idlers 
and disreputables, and the prisoners from the jails, to 
do the fighting, and so clear away the submerged 
tenth. 

“ After that laugh Mr. Barton told such funny 
stories that we laughed a good deal, and Matilda 
came round my side of the table to stare at 
Hhe funny gentleman,’ as she afterwards called 
him. 

“ ‘ Lor ! ’e is a caution,’ I heard her say, as she 
wiped her eyes on the serviette she carried, waiter- 
fashion, over her arm. 

“ In a pause, Lizzie-Bess enjoined Jackie, in refer- 
ence to Mrs. Martha’s head-dress : 

“ ‘ It ain’t a cockatoo.’ 

“ But Jackie ‘ knew better,’ and ate his grapes in 
silence, deigning neither glance nor word. 

“ Barbara was blissfully oblivious of the remark. 


Dija’s Freedom 349 

I heard the professor on my left murmuring to him- 
self : 

“‘No known species.’ 

“ ‘ There’s more in my Polly than meets the eye,’ 
Lizzie-Bess informed her hostess. 

“ ‘ You’re very rude,’ said Jack. 

“ ‘ I ain’t,’ snapped Lizzie-Bess ; ‘ I only said it 
ain’t a cockatoo. It ain’t a cockatoo, is it ? ’ per- 
sisted the child. 

“ ‘No, my love,’ murmured Mrs. Martha. 

“ ‘ If it was a cockatoo,’ Lizzie-Bess continued, 
pointing to the discussed bird with her fruit fork, 
‘ it would have a top-knot. An’ it has not got a 
top-knot. So there.’ 

“ At that Mrs. Martha gave the signal for the la- 
dies to leave the table. Led by the hand, Lizzie- 
Bess talked herself from the room. 

“ ‘ Jackie’s got a bird in his throat ; he sings like 
a lark. Mr. Barton says so.’ 

“ But the fun of this funny evening was not yet 
over. Later, in the drawing-room, when the gentle- 
men joined us, somebody asked Mrs. Martha to sing, 
which she obligingly did — something that sounded 
like ‘ Wobbling Waters.’ It was excruciating ! 

“ ‘ O wobbling — wobbling waters,’ in a wobbling 
voice to a wobbling accompaniment. 


350 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Mr. Barton looked out of the window all the 
time ; but the professor, who has no ear for music 
— as you know — but a passion for accurac}^, was 
nearly the death of us. At the conclusion of the 
performance, he said : 

“‘Thank you. Yery ar — tuneful. But what 
waters, may I ask, madam, are those to which you 
refer ? ’ 

“‘Warbling waters — singing waters, don’t you 
know, professor.’ 

“ ‘ O, indeed,’ answered the professor. 

“ If well-bred people might laugh when they 
wanted to they would live longer. 

“ Lizzie-Bess got so sleepy she had to be put to 
bed. I found a lace-frilled nighty that had once 
belonged to my mother’s little girl, and in her laces 
and ribbons the ‘small one’ insisted upon going 
down-stairs again, and saying her prayers at the 
professor’s feet. 

“ The gray old man bent over her, and the other 
men stood reverently. 

“ ‘ Loolc upon a little ’ and the child was asleep, 

the golden head resting upon the professor’s knee. 

“ There was a moment’s silence ; then Mr. Barton 
looked from one man to the other and putting his 
hand on Jackie’s head, said : 


Dija’s Freedom 351 

“ ‘ And He set a child in their midsV ” 
****** 

In a charming room at Mentone the scene had 
been living for three persons. Leonard put down 
the letter, and a little silence fell between tho 
three. It was broken by Mrs. Nettlethorpe. 

“ Dija picks the best out of every circumstance.” 

^‘She has found her philosopher’s stone,” said 
Mrs. Harper. 

After Mrs. Harper had retired that night, Mrs. 
Hettlethorpe stayed on talking to Leonard. He 
made her comfortable among the cushions on her 
couch, and sat beside her, listening to her talk with- 
out interruption, for it was of Dija only she spoke ; 
of her childhood, of her care and courage through 
all the dreary London days. Then she showed her 
fear for the poverty of Dija’s future, for to Mrs. 
Hettlethorpe poverty meant evil. 

Leonard took her wasted hand, and, with a press- 
ure, asked : 

“ Could you trust her to me ? ” 

Mrs. J^ettlethorpe half rose from her cushions, 
and looked searchingly at the handsome face bend- 
ing over her. 

“To you?” 


352 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ She asked me to marry her when she was ten 
years old ” — he half laughed — “ and if one day I 
ask her, and she says ‘ yes,’ will you say ‘ yes,’ also, 
Mrs. Nettlethorpe ? Will you accept me as your 
son ? ” 

“ Oh, Leonard ! You have made me so happy — 
happier than I have been since her father died. He 
will forgive me now.” 

Leonard lifted the hand held out to him with old- 
fashioned courtesy, and left Mrs. Hettlethorpe to 
her thoughts. 

They were happy, for she smiled. Still smiling, 
she went to sleep. 

Leonard walked back and forth on the balcony, 
thoughtfully smoking his cigar. Once or twdce he 
looked in, but was reluctant to disturb her. But 
not rousing, he went at last, and bent over the 
sweet pale face. 

Then he understood that the mother of Dija 
would never waken again. 


CHAPTEK XX 


BACK AT BLACKTHORKE 

The old garden of Blackthorne glowed in the 
May sunshine with a hundred exquisite tints. The 
copper beech contrasted with the delicate green of 
the elms, the flowering chestnuts made a white 
background for the luxurious lilacs, the hawthorn, 
white and red, glowed among the sombre yews and 
pines, Avhile the flower-beds blazed with color. 

Walking under the shadow of the pines was a 
tall, slender figure in white with a ragamuffin dog 
at her heels. Samaritan barked once or twice to 
attract Dija’s attention, but she was too absorbed 
in her own thoughts. 

Fifteen months had passed since Leonard had 
broken to her the news of her mother’s death. 
It had all been as a dream at the time ; his unex- 
pected appearance, the hurried journey with him 
to Mentone, the later coming home and the quiet 
burial of her mother beside her father, then 

the natural settling down with her godmother at 
353 


A Maid of Mettle 


354 

Blackthorne, where Leonard left the two together 
as a matter of course, taking himself off. 

They had heard from him first from one place, 
then from another; he assumed always that his 
mother was in good hands, that Dija gave all that 
young companionship could give. 

It was only now when the shock was past, when 
the sense of loss and loneliness had eased, that Bija 
realized how, by having a trust put upon her, a duty 
in her hands, she had been saved from the despair 
Avhich the young feel when they face for the first 
time a world where there seems no need of them. 

“ It was exquisite of godmother, exquisite of 
Leonard ! ” thought Dija. 

She unfolded a roll of tattered and odd scraps of 
paper which she carried in her hand — M3^rn’s letters 
from the Avar. First she turned to his description 
of the siege of Mafeking, then to his account of his 
first real engagement at Elands Ei\^er. The dates 
spread over many months ; the letters had been 
Avritten at odd moments, the paper bearing traces 
of the rock behind Avhich he had lain Avhile Avriting, 
or the stains of the camp. Each letter as she had 
received it had been forwarded to Mr. Eosbrey and 
returned. Dija kneAv them almost by heart yet 
she read extracts now. 


Back at Blackthorne 


355 


'‘^Elands River ^ January 1900 . 

“ My dear Dija,* 

‘‘I trust you will excuse the paper on 
which I am endeavoring to write ; it is my cartridge 
wrapper paper and at present I have plenty of it in 
front of me, so I will endeavor to give you par- 
ticulars of what I see, hear and feel in this, my first 
experience of a fairly determined battle, for I 
think we are now in the beginning of. ... I 
do not feel at all fearsome regarding myself, but 
the fight is getting fiercer and fiercer, shells are 
flying overhead, bursting in front of us, and to 
right and left, and it is possible one of them may 
prevent my finishing this letter to you. With all 
this noise it is difiicult to collect my thoughts 
to place the position before you clearly. All 
night I have been out on horseback post (or ex- 
tended outpost) with four of my comrades, and 
we returned at 6 A. m., to this our main out- 
post. Feeling safe from the attention of the 
enemy, and cold after a freezing night on duty, 
we were just piling a few sticks together prepara- 
tory to making a fire to warm ourselves and a billy 
of tea for breakfast, when suddenly and without 

* This letter was written by one of the Victorian Bushmen from 
Elands River. 


A Maid of Mettle 


356 

warning the alarm sounds, and our officers give the 
command, ‘ To arms, men, and to your posts.’ Hast- 
ily taking a survey of our surroundings, I espy 
horsemen galloping from all directions toward the 
camp. It is a morning patrol party coming with 
the news that a large force of the enemy is at 
hand. The first note of battle sounds, the boom 
of cannon and the crack of rifle. The curtain has 
risen ; there is no audience, but there are real actors 
in the drama. Many villainous plots will be un- 
raveled and tragedies revealed before the curtain 
falls. And I wonder how many of the actors who 
now throb with life will, before the setting of the 
sun, be wrapped in the stillness of death. There 
will be no tears of a beautiful heroine falling over 
those still forms : we are not fighting like the ro- 
mance warriors of old for the hand of a beautiful 
maiden, but for a glorious Queen and a grand Em- 
pire. . . . There is no clash of steel, nor line 

of bayonets glistening in the sun : we are not here 
to attack a valuable stronghold. It is a pleasure to 
look at the grim determination with which the 
men’s faces are set. There is no sign of that fear 
which it is said some of the bravest men feel on the 
eve of their first battle — you hear such stock re- 
marks as ‘ Let ’em all come.’ There is speculation 


Back at Blackthorne 357 

regarding the size of the enemy’s guns which are 
spitting forth death, and they even go so far in 
admiration as ‘ By George, she is a beauty ! ’ Can 
you understand that our hope fpr months past has 
been to get into a big fight, and our one fear that 
we should not get it? And now we are happy, 
though some of us will get more than we looked 
for. All we see is the flash of cannon ; all we hear 
is the whiz of coming shells and the command, 
‘ Keady, present. Fire.’ We are here to do or die, 
and one or the other we shall endeavor to do 
decently.” 

Under different dates which extended to August, 
scene after scene was given. Dija turned to the 
closing paragraph. 

“ The final scene on which the curtain falls in 
this dreadful drama is not a pretty one. It rose on 
officers giving their words of command, clean and 
well uniformed at their posts : lines of well-groomed 
horses, and at their rear rows of saddlers correctly 
in line. Hundreds of cattle grazed peacefully be- 
yond ; wagons and carts, and here, there and every- 
where stacks upon stacks of cases neatl}’’ piled, and 
the ground smooth and well swept; everything 
was pleasing to the eye — a well ordered military 


A Maid of Mettle 


358 

camp. But, in this final scene, death and desolation 
and disorder ! You see yonder a thousand ugly, ill- 
smelling carcases heaped and rotting ; cases of pro- 
visions everywhere battered and scattered and the 
ground torn and ploughed : luggage lying in 
wrecks. J^o longer are the actors well dressed and 
clean : their faces are besmeared with dirt, their 
clothes in tatters ; but the faces of the men though 
dirty are merry and more determined. You no 
longer hear the din of battle ; instead, amidst this 
wreck you hear laughter, groups of men laughing 
and talking together, and over yonder a staid officer 
of exalted rank walking with a trooper, and over 
there see those men firing salutes over mounds of 
earth, and with their rough hands tenderly laying 
crosses in memory of the dead. 

‘‘ Here is the hospital. Peep in and see the white 
yet smiling faces ; see there a courage and fortitude 
you did not know man to possess ; hear men with 
limbs torn and shattered talking cheerily, eagerly 
inquiring for news of the war. But in yonder 
corner is an almost lifeless form : soon it will be 
under earth and all of a man’s ambitions will be 
the cross and the mound. 

“ Glorious is battle ? Ah ! ” 


Back at Blackthorne 


359 


Dija lifted her head and saw Mrs. Harper com- 
ing to meet her across the lawn. She was a beauti- 
ful old lady with her snow-white hair and lilac 
gown — sweet as any of the blossoms of the spring. 
Dija’s heart went to meet her faster than her feet. 
When she came closer, she noticed an unusual ex- 
citement in the manner of the serene gentle- 
Avoman. 

“ My dear,” she said, resting her beautiful white 
hand — the hand of a generation ago — upon Dija’s 
arm, “ I have had news ; double news.” 

Dija’s dark eyes brightened into the faded eyes 
upraised. 

Leonard is coming home ? That much your face 
tells. But the double of this fact — what can it 

be ? Take my arm, dear godmother — we Avill 

go under the trees, the sun is too hot for you here.” 

Dija was palpitating Avith eagerness to knoAV, 
but she supported the feeble steps to the shadoAV of 
the pines, Avhere she remembered she had once lain 
— how many years ago ? — Avhen she had vexed 
Leonard and her godmother, and her rebellion had 
shut her out of this dear Avorld of Blackthorne 
Avhich Avas noAV her only home. 

‘‘It is about Myrn — the other neAvs,” said Mrs. 
Harper. Dija turned eagerlv : her face looked 


360 A Maid of Mettle 

startled. Surely her godmother could not look like 
that if ? 

“ He is coming home.” 

“ Invalided ? ” 

“Mr. Fosbrey writes so.” Dija’s face paled a 
little. 

“ This has been a strange eventful year,” she said 
dreamily ; “ things have happened so unexpectedly, 
so altogether different to what I had expected — 
and planned.” 

“ Dija,” answered the old voice tenderly, “ every 
strong will is ‘ the wind’s will, and the thoughts of 
youth are long, long thoughts ’ — but they never 
reach further than the destined end.” 

“ The destined end ? ” queried the girl. 

“ Perfection,” was the reply. 

“ Don’t,” said Dija ; “ it makes me so tired to even 
think of it. I am ashamed when I think how im- 
petuous I was, how impatient for results. I am be- 
ginning to understand what Dr. Griffiths said to 
me one day. ‘Be strong — weakness is cowardice: 
be courageous — timidity is weakness; but never 
pull against the stream unless you are stronger than 
the current ; pull hard, but with God’s will.’ ” 

“It is so natural for each young heart to think 
that it knows better than any other how the world 


Back at Blackthorne 361 

should be made,’’ answered the old lady with a 
smile — “ but,” she added with a dramatic gesture 
towards her flower beds, “ it is permitted us — under 
nature’s existing laws, to sow seeds and cultivate 
our own private corner of the universe.” 

They were silent for a time, then Dija said, 
‘‘ How wise the old are ; their wisdom used to seem 
to me such foolishness. Again I remember some- 
thing Dr. Griffiths said — ‘When I was a young 
man I meant to carve out for myself a great name, 
but instead circumstances have carved out of me a 
great cynic.’ ” 

“Yet in a way he is great,” responded Mrs. 
Harper ; “ those years of recurring labor met so 
patiently and with so little reward — ah, my dear, 
it is the humdrum monotony of continuous effort 
that tries and tests real courage — the sick days of 
the wounded soldier are more difficult than the 
fight.” 

They talked now in a lighter strain. 

“Mr. Fosbrey will tire of wandering, now Myrn 
is returning; I have asked them here — Leonard 
will be glad, I know. It will be almost like old 
times.” Her pressure of Dija’s arm meant that she 
had not forgotten Dija’s sorrow. The white gown 
meant half mourning not only for her mother but 


A Maid of Mettle 


362 

for the nation’s loss. The winter of England’s 
mourning for its queen had but ended. 

In her own room Dija gave up her thoughts to 
happy anticipation and reverie. Leonard was 
coming home — and her first book had been ac- 
cepted. It had been the outcome of the past year. 
Being “ still ” to Dija had meant not useless pining, 
but patient labor, and the thrill of ecstasy was yet 
new with which she had read her publisher’s com- 
munication that her manuscript had been accepted 
and would be brought out in the autumn. But 
this nearer joy of Myrn’s and Leonard’s coming, put 
all others from her mind. 

She was roused from her thoughts by Barbara’s 
voice. 

“Dija, may I come in?” Barbara came in 
rosy and smiling — with bright eyes and elastic 
step. 

“I had to come,” she explained. “Uncle Keith 
brought me over — he’s in the drawing-room now, 
talking to Mrs. Harper. Guess, dear, what the 
news is.” 

“ Hot somebody coming home ? ” Dija asked 
smilingly. 

“ Jackie,” said Barbara joyfully ; “ Mr. Barton has 


Back at Blackthorne 


363 

written. The letter was posted but a few hours be- 
fore their intended departure from Germany. Jackie 
has done tremendously well and deserves a holiday, 
Mr. Barton says.” 

I don’t believe he said ‘ tremendously,’ ” smiled 
Dija ; ‘‘ he’s not given to the use of superlatives.” 
“You’re too bad, Dija! he didn’t actually use 

the word, but he implied it ” 

“ All our swallows are flying homeward,” inter- 
rupted Dija. “ Leonard — Myrn — Mr. Fosbrey ” 

“ Myrn ? O, I am glad. We shall all be so 
happy.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Dija, “ but I’ve noticed we are 

just as happy, only as we can hold ” 

“I can hold a lot of happiness,” interrupted 
Barbara laughingly ; “ can’t you ? ” 

“ Sometimes I think I can’t,” replied Dija ; “ the 
ecstasy evaporates before the vessel’s full — like 
sorrow, joy seems to roll over me in great waves 
and pass on. Then it’s gone for always. I can 
never experience the same sensation twice over. I 
love and hate, rejoice and sorrow with all my heart 
— for once, but I can’t feel the same thing in lesser 
degrees until it dies out. I wish I could. I wish 
it wasn’t always with me ‘all in all or not at all ’ — 
but it is.” 


A Maid of Mettle 


364 

The professor and Barbara were easily persuaded 
to remain to the quiet dinner at Blackthorne. 
Familiarity with the professor never bred con- 
tempt ; with the true simplicity of the scholar he 
admired the attainments of others, especially of the 
young, and since Dija’s articles on old London, he 
exquisitely ignored the fact that she had largely 
utilized his own knowledge, and treated her as a 
fellow-archaeologist. They were soon deeply inter- 
ested in each other, while Barbara and Mrs. Harper 
discussed the return of the wanderers. 

They were seated on the terrace after dinner in 
the moonlight when Dija caught the sound of foot- 
steps on the gravel that she knew. She listened till 
she was sure, then said quietly, 

“ Godmother, I think Leonard has come.” 

With a subdued cry of delight, Mrs. Harper rose, 
but she had barely time to get into the drawing- 
room before Leonard’s voice greeted his mother. 

The professor and Barbara followed, but for some 
reason which Dija could not explain, she remained 
where she was. Through the open windows she 
saw into the lighted room and caught a glimpse of 
Barbara’s flushed face, looking up into Leonard’s 
with the genuine happiness of which Barbara had 
spoken. Leonard’s fair head was bent, listening 


Back at Blackthorne 365 

with an interested half smile to the girl’s welcome 
home. 

With a pang Dija turned away. It seemed that 
Barbara had appropriated her prerogative to give 
Leonard first welcome. In another moment she 
had done battle with herself and was ashamed of 
the sudden upleaping of the old imperious demand. 

It happened that when Leonard found her, her 
greeting was subdued to coldness. He looked at 
the graceful young woman before him doubtfully 
and with a sense of chill — had circumstances but 
combined against him after all ? Had she chafed 
at the guardianship that might have seemed too 
like imprisonment ? Was it indeed true that the 
freedom of which she had spoken was greater hap- 
piness than guardianship ? His hand fell from hers. 
Instinctively his manner changed from eagerness to 
studied courtesy. When they entered the room to- 
gether, Dija took her seat at the feet of Mrs. Harper. 
It was the low chair on which she used to sit and 
be admonished when a child. 

To-night she felt in the wrong somehow, but 
where or how, she scarcely understood. 

Leonard, in his favorite attitude of leaning on the 
back of his mother’s chair, gave all his news. He 
had seen Jackie in Germany 


A Maid of Mettle 


366 

“Not Jackie ? ” exclaimed Barbara. 

“ None other but ‘ himself,’ Miss Clare,” answered 
Leonard with a smile ; “ he imparted several very 
secret secrets to me which I am not to divulge ; one 
is that if it hadn’t been that ” 

“Now that’s too bad ! ” chuckled the professor, 
with remembrance of Jackie’s manner of keeping a 
secret. 

“Well, perhaps I’d better not divulge. It was . 
something to do with building a large organ in the 
professor’s study when he had money enough — as a 
sort of pleasant surprise for the professor, then 
knocking down the dividing wall between the two 
houses so that you could all live together. Lucky 
the History of Kent is finished, eh, professor ? ” 

“ You’re a traitor, Mr. Harper,” laughed Barbara. 

“ I will never tell you a secret again.” 

“ I hold you in the hollow of my hand,” he an- 
swered with a meaning look — “ you have told me 
several already.” 

The beautiful color crept from Barbara’s cheeks 
to her brow — she thought of those first direful 
days at Greystone Lodge when she had confided in 
Leonard. They had been real sorrows then, but 
they had melted away like mist before the sun. 

Leonard had seen Mr. Fosbrey also. 


Back at Blackthorne 


367 


Dija’s dark eyes fastened on his face. 

“ In fact, we kept each other company for several 
Aveeks. When ‘ the boy ’ comes home there are to 
be happenings. Mrs. Talbert too speaks of return- 
ing with Betty ’’ 

Dija was all alive now. 

“ Keally ? What a news-vendor you are, Leonard.” 
He saw how glad she was : her old worship for 
Mrs. Talbert had not died then ? In that there was 
no change. 

“ I saw Dr. Griffiths — who gave me some 

news ” continued Leonard with a meaning look 

at Dija who knew instantly that he referred to her 
book. “Also Mrs. Martha. Also Matilda. Ma- 
tilda pushed me over a dust-pan into a lumber-room 
and told me she was going to Bolt. I advised her 
to do nothing without mature deliberation, at Avhich 
she snorted and banged to the door with her foot. 
‘ Demure deliberation indeed ! — there hain’t nothing 
else in this house now Miss Dija’s gone! There 
wasn’t much demure deliberatin’ when she was ’ere. 
Kep’ the house buzzin’ she did. What with people 

droppin’ in an’ droppin’ out ’ ” 

“And dropping on the stairs ! ” interjected Dija. 

“ ‘ them was times. The night of the party I 

larfed and choked, listened at the door, I did ! till 


A Maid of Mettle 


368 

I was blue in the face. Will you tell Miss Dija, 
please sir, that I’m goin’ to Bolt. Mrs. Martha 
found the book I was writin’ and read where I w^as 
showin’ ’er up. She smiled quite as pleasant as 
usual all the way through, then, when I least ex- 
pected it, banged me over the ’ed with the manu- 
cript, she did, an’ chucked it on the fire. Call that 
encouragement to rise ? ’ she asked, ‘ I calls it op- 
pression.’ 

“ I thought she had gone when a touseled head 
reappeared. ‘ B-o-l-t, spell that,’ she demanded.” 

Dija walked to the gate with Barbara when the 
professor took leave, and Barbara flushed with un- 
seen pleasure at the gentle pressure of Dija’s hand 
upon her arm, for strangely enough it was Dija who 
since the early days of their friendship had been 
the undemonstrative one. Barbara, had set Dija 
apart, and in her imaginative way, worshipped with 
hero worship the girl who had been strong enough 
to carry her ideal of life into fruition. With her- 
self — she could just love and serve. She said 
something of this as they walked side by side in the 
moonlight down the great avenue. 

I haven’t had an opportunity of congratulating 
you — I’m half frightened of you now that you are 


Back at Blackthorne 


369 

an authoress, Dija. I know that one day you will 
be famous. I am overwhelmed when I think that I 
am the b^n-door fowl among eagles ! From the 
professor to Jackie you are all clever — it is refresh- 
ing to remember Leonard ! He is not clever — only 
a darling ! ” 

Dija turned and met the sparkling eyes. She 
hesitated for a moment, then suddenly bent forward 
and surprised Barbara with a kiss. “ He is not the 
only darling ! ” she said, and abruptly turned back 
toward the house, and saw Leonard coming to 
meet her. He threw away the cigarette he was 
smoking and turned to walk by her side. 

« Why was I not entrusted with the great fact ? ” 
he asked, after a silent pace or two. “ Did you 
think I should not sympathize ? ” 

That had been the truth. 

“ Yes,” she ^answered, “ I knew that you would 
not understand.” He laughed lightly. 

I must go in for an editorship,” he remarked, 
if I am to secure the privilege of your manuscript. 
You never write to me now. Too busy, is that it ? ” 
Without waiting for an answer he talked of his 
mother. “ When Mrs. ISTettlethorpe made her your 
guardian, child, she knew the positions would be 
reversed. She told me the last night, when we 


A Maid of Mettle 


370 

talked together, of the comfort and strength you 
had been to her.” 

“ Leonard, did she say that ? ” Dija’s eyes were 
on his face, her hand on his arm. Leonard realized 
that she craved for assurance. He talked softly of 
that happy last evening when they had laughed 
together over Dija’s letter, and saw that what he 
said brought happiness to the sad face. For Dija 
with passionate self-torturing had remembered 
everything of her faults and nothing of the com- 
fort she had been to her mother. 

She knelt at her window long that night, looking 
at the bright starlit sky. The perfumes from the 
garden reached her on the still air : among the cul- 
tivated blossoms was a bush of gorse, the pungent 
scent of which took her mind back to Australia 
with its adventures, and all the hopes of those un- 
disciplined years. Girlhood was behind her now — 
soon her years of guardianship would be ended — 
what lay before ? 

The quiet pacing of Leonard’s footsteps on the 
gravel beneath roused her. How glad he had made 
her to-night ! It was like him to remember all that 
she wanted to know. She wished with almost pas- 
sionate longing that she was a child again, that she 
might dictate to him and tyrannize over him. 


CHAPTEK XXI 


ANOTHER PARTY 

Greystone Lodge was the seat of subdued ex- 
citement and preparation for the next few weeks, for 
Barbara and Mrs. Grimby declared that everything 
must be spick and span for J ackie’s return. 

“ Besides,’* Barbara said, “ there’ll be Myrn and 
Mr. Fosbrey and other visitors,” so the daintiest of 
curtains were hung and the oak polished till it 
shone. 

Barbara had long since unearthed some old silver 
which was Mrs. Grimby’s special pride. 

As she looked round the dining-room she mur- 
mured to herself : 

“ I wouldn’t go back four years, not if it was ever 
so — look at the master, bless him ! ” 

The professor was holding forth to a small fair- 
haired girl in the garden whose curly head was 
bent over a microscope. There was evidently some 
insect under discussion, for the microscope rested 
on the stump of a tree. 

The party was broken upon by a loud whoop, and 
371 


372 A Maid of Mettle 

bounding into the garden came a boy in an Eton 
suit. 

Elizabeth knew the whoop, and, but for the pro- 
fessor, would in her excitement have knocked over 
the microscope. 

“ He’s got trousers ! ” she exclaimed, as she 
bounded to meet him. They met like a pair of 
amiable goats and butted each other with their 
heads. It was only when they were quite calm that 
they kissed. 

A brother in trousers was a boy to be respected 
in Elizabeth’s eyes and her deferential demeanor 
was afterwards observed. She deferred to Jackie’s 
opinion and referred to him on all subjects. 

“Jackie said so,” became a by-word. 

Barbara’s boy bore her most solicitous scrutiny 
and his demeanor toward her delighted her. For 
hours he wandered about beside his elder sister, 
through the lanes or among the boats and boatmen 
on the beach, with Elizabeth and the professor 
ahead. If Elizabeth interrupted one of his many 
stories, he’d say, 

“ Doesn’t she talk ? Isn’t she a chatterbox ? ” 

Things had settled down somewhat before the}^ 
saw much of Mr. Barton ; he had been in town most 


Another Party 373 

of the time, but one day when Jackie and Elizabeth 
were paddling and Barbara sat on an old boat, Mr. 
Barton appeared among the fishing nets suspended 
near. 

When Barbara saw him, he uncovered his head 
and smiled, and coming forward, sat down beside 
her on the boat. 

“So far,” he said, his deep voice quite gentle, 
“ are you satisfied ? Have I fulfilled your charge ? ” 

“ It is the old Jackie,” she replied, her eyes going 
back to the boy, “ only taller.” 

“ I am held by my bond to guard his boyhood 
sacredly — not for his sake only, Miss Clare. It is 
selfishness all through on my part. I wonder if 
you understand what Jackie means to me.” 

“I understand,” replied Barbara looking Mr. 
Barton full in the face, “ and do you know I am 
growing to like selfishness — the forms I have met 
with in Kent.” 

Mr. Barton colored and rose hurriedly. 

“How, boy,” he called to Jack, “come on, your 
sister is waiting, and remember we are hosts to 
night.” 

When Barbara dressed herself and Elizabeth for 
Mr. Barton’s party that night, she thought of his 
first party when she had wept in secret over her 


A Maid of Mettle 


374 

dependence. As far as she could learn from the 
professor, business in connection with her money 
had not been finally settled yet. 

“ Law is a — er — a prolonged matter,” the professor 
would say, “ too complicated and tedious for your 
understanding, my dear,” and a quarterly allowance 
of pin money had put Barbara’s mind at rest. But 
any reference to the matter invariably made the 
professor nervous. 

She must not know the humiliation of 
dependence. No, no, certainly not — certainly 
not.” 

Mr. Barton’s party was a series of surprises, for 
when Barbara was ushered in, she was startled by 
Lizzie-Bess whispering audibly, 

“ She’s got a rose in her hair — and not a 
cockatoo.” 

Mrs. Martha’s smile put doubt away ; she came to 
meet Barbara with outstretched hands. 

“ Allow me to congratulate you,” she said, “ on 
your engagement.” 

*‘My engagements'^ gasped Barbara with rosy 
cheeks, “to whom?” Mrs. Martha beamed. 

“ It’s not announced yet ; very well. I’ll be dis- 
creet, but little birds, you know ! — Ah, here is 
our dear young distinguished friend ; why Dija, my 


Another Party 375 

love, how pale you are too much study is a weari- 
ness to the flesh.’* 

Dija’s hand trembled in Mrs. Martha’s, her dark 
eyes were misty between laughter and tears. 

“ Mr. Barton is a conjuror,” she said. “ I see the 
doctor over there. But Mrs. Martha, dear, just slip 
with me into the conservatory ; your fichu is — has 
become a little disarranged.” 

“ I can’t slip anywhere, my dear, my shoes are 
odd. When I came to unpack them I found them 
so — however I came to make such a blunder I can’t 
think ! Come round this way in the shadow. 
Thank you, my dear. What with looking after 
Matilda and the doctor ” 

“ Have you brought Matilda ? ” 

“ Yes. When Mr. Barton asked us for to-night the 
doctor decided to stay in Deal for a few weeks and 
get a breath of fresh air, so we have taken a fur- 
nished cottage. Matilda is there now unpacking.” 

Matilda was nothing of the kind, for just then 
Dija caught a glimpse of an unmistakable nose 
flattened against a pane of the conservatory I 
Dija’s laugh was merrier than it had been for many 
a day. 

Dija, half an hour later, was in earnest talk with 
Dr. Griffiths, when she gave a low, half-glad, half- 


A Maid of Mettle 


376 

startled cry. In a group at the doorway was a 
tall figure in khaki beside whom stood a lovely 
girl in white and on Mr. Fosbrey’s arm a slender 
dark eyed woman with abundant iron gray hair. 

Dija’s heart leaped : for a moment she could hardly 
draw her breath ; then she crossed the room quickly, 
joy in her eyes. 

“ Mrs. Talbert ! ” 

“ Not Dija ? — yet — yes it is ! ” 

“ I am jealous,” said the girl in white, “ that you 
didn’t see me first, Di.” 

“ My dear old Betts, why you haven’t grown up 
at all. I must kiss you. If I forget my company 
manners it is all the fault of Mr. Barton ; he shouldn’t 
do it, as Jackie would say. There’s been a con- 
spiracy — I’m sure Leonard and godmother are in it, 
for don’t you see we are a family party all to our- 
selves. Mr. Barton, I could hug you, — ^yes I could,” 
she reiterated, as everybody laughed ; “ I’m not 
grown up at all to-night. Mr. Barton, I hope you 
haven’t any more surprises ? I — just couldn’t b^ar 
them. Betty, dear, this is ‘ the other girl.’ ” 

Betty blushed. Barbara and she eyed each other 
for a moment ; then Barbara with her ready tact 
said, “ I know you quite well ; you are not a stranger. 
Dija has told me so much about you.” 


Another Party 377 

In a quiet corner half an hour later Myrn stood 
before Dija. 

“ Do you like me in khaki better than you did in 
my dress suit ? ” he asked. 

Dija looked into his face : it was pale and thin. 
The old self-confident assertive Myrn had changed. 
Instead of the hearty laugh, he smiled, “but al- 
though he showed his beautiful teeth,” Dija said 
afterwards, “ it was not the smile of Myrn, but of a 
man who had looked on worse than death.” 

“ Oh, my dear ! ” she said with that upwelling of 
motherhood which is in every good girl’s heart, “ I 
wish that I could make up.” 

She turned away abruptly, not trusting herself 
to say more, and met Leonard’s eyes. 

The evening had, in spite of Dija’s wish, more 
surprises, which in a measure made the hour of re- 
union with those friends who could not meet with- 
out emotion, less intense. 

The beautiful garden, which had tempted Jackie 
and Lizzie-Bess on a past day, was illuminated with 
Chinese lanterns. Mr. Barton, every summer that 
he spent “ at home,” made a specialty of this night 
garden party. He called it a musical evening. In 
the great room where “the kiddies” first found 


A Maid of Mettle 


378 

him, famous musicians played and sang. In the 
illuminated gardens, young girls laughed and 
talked, and there was none merrier than Betty 
Talbert. 

Everybody had gone home. The humpbacked 
servant had put out the lights of Greystone House, 
and its master walked in the deserted garden. 

It was true that he had won fame. At what cost 
the world did not know. Winning fame meant — 
never to be weak ; never to give in ; scarcely to be 
human ; to hold always and ever the one object in 
view ; to crush all personal desire. Was the ap- 
plause worth the sacrifice ? 

He thought of his first, hard, unblessed, struggling 
years — unblessed save by human affection — and al- 
most wished that he could let all go — save human 
affection. 

Barbara, from the attic window where she had 
once looked out so hopelessly over the roof of Grey- 
stone House, looked to-night in a dream of pleasure. 
The circumstances had scarcely changed, but every- 
thing had somehow become new. 

She did not realize that her own love and courage 
had done much to create this new world. Her sor- 
row at the loss of Jack had changed to very real satis- 


Another Party 379 

faction, for she understood that Mr. Barton’s guard- 
ianship was a wise one. 

She was too full of thought to sleep. Myrn’s re- 
turn, the' advent of Betty, one subject after another 
put sleep far away, but always her thoughts went 
back to Mr. Barton. 

Blackthorne was the scene of quiet excitement for 
the next few days. Mrs. Harper insisted upon Mr. 
Fosbrey and Myrn, Mrs. Talbert and Betty all 
staying with her, and the old house in its May gar- 
den was ideal for a house-party. The great cozy 
rooms offered every facility in which to be quiet if 
such had been the desire of the guests, but they 
all had too much to say to each other. 

Myrn talked least of all. Of his wounds all he 
would say was — 

“ I’m a lucky chap — if you had seen what I have 
seen of the suffering of the other fellows, you would 
know I’m a lucky chap.” 

One night when he and the girls were sitting on 
the lawn watching the moon come up behind the 
cedar trees, he watched it with wistful eyes. 

“ How glad we were,” he said, “ for the moonlight 
out on the veldt — the darkness was awful when a 
shell exploded and you couldn’t see. There was one 
night ” — he paused and Dija fancied that he shud- 


A Maid of Mettle 


380 

dered — “a shell burst among a group of us — the 
night was black as ink — we couldn’t see the damage 
done. I felt the severed limb of a man strike me — 
and then out of the darkness came the most awful 
crying of a man, 0-0 w, 0-0 w, o-ow ” 

“ Don’t, cousin,” said Betty. 

“Yes — tell us, why shouldn’t we hear what our 
men have endured ? ” 

“ I couldn’t go to him — dared not leave my post,” 
Myrn’s voice was thick, “ but a mile away I could 
hear the cries in the dark stillness. Gradually they 
grew fainter, then they ceased.” 

“ He was dead ? ” asked Barbara, tremulously. 

“ I hope so,” said Myrn. 

Dija laid her hand upon his arm in that fashion 
of hers of expressing understanding and sympathy. 

“Often,” continued Myrn, “I hear him when 
lying awake nights — after sleeping fifteen months 
in the open, sometimes with a stone for a pillow 
and another under each shoulder to lift one off the 
wet, and only a mackintosh sheet to keep off the 
rain — I find pillows and blankets oppressive, and 
don’t sleep.” 

“ Did it hurt much. Cousin Myrn, when you were 
shot ? ” asked Betty. 

“Ho, the bullet went clean through; felt as 


Another Party 381 

though I had been banged on the chest with a post. 
I just bandaged myself — I found my smattering of 
doctoring useful out there. I was doing scout 
duty at the time and I had a splendid little horse, 
a cunning little chap, and we did some starving to- 
gether! Poor old fellow, I’m sorry about him — 
you see, I thrashed him the last time we were to- 
gether ! ” 

“ Oh ! Myrn ! ” 

“Well, Oija, I was compelled — he was a knowing 
rascal and as much interested in the war as any 
other Britain. He was my fourth horse, the other 
three had either been killed or died. We were 
great chums — that’s why I think about it! — but 
this day, well — the sun was roasting. I’d been 
scouting for days with nothing to eat worth men- 
tioning and the bullet wound didn’t mend matters 
— well there ! I lost my temper. I left the horse 
down in what you would call a gully and clambered 
to a ridge on hands and knees to peer over to sight 
the enemy, and the horse, as interested as a human, 
would insist upon following me and peering over 
the ridge also. He’d have given the show away. 
Over and over again I forced him to lie down, but 
over and over he pushed up his head, and then I 
thrashed him.” 


A Maid of Mettle 


382 

Myrn’s voice was not quite steady. 

“ Didn’t you make it up ? ” asked Barbara. 

“ Hadn’t much chance ; I gave him the last half 
biscuit ; that night we reached a farmhouse — I Avas 
starving. I filled my hat with green peaches and 
ate some — and here I am.” 

Later Avhen he and Dija were Avalking together 
he said : 

“ I’m going back to Edinburgh by and by. Lots 
of folk think that soldiering has spoilt mo for doc- 
toring — but I know what suffering is now, and if I 
can ease some of it, why I will.” 

“ When you were away I used often to think of 
my horrid remark the last time you Avere here.” 

“ What remark Avas that ? ” 

“ You may Avell ask — I made so many ! I mean 
Avhen I hinted you might get plucked.” 

Myrn laughed. 

“Well, so I might haA^e,” he ansAVered, “if it 
hadn’t been for your example at slogging — and the 
fear of facing you afterwards.” 

Mrs. Talbert appropriated much of Dija’s time. 
Her interest and pride in the young Avriter Avas 
great. She gave her much advice. 

“ But after all,” she concluded, “ the royal road 


Another Party 383 

to success in literature is much the same as to suc- 
cess in anything else — indefatigable labor. The 
literary gift must first be there, of course, — an in- 
stinct, but the art of good style and expression is 
rarely an instinct — it is an achievement.” 

Betty’s imagination pictured in glowing colors 
all the delights that were to come when The Court 
was out of mourning. They were all to see the 
coronation of King Edward, of course, and Mrs. 
Harper hinted at three young debutantes being 
presented later to the gracious and beautiful Queen 
Alexandra. The girls were at one on that subject, 
and Dija forgot the anxious waiting for the recep- 
tion of her book whenever the matter was men- 
tioned. 


CHAPTEE XXII 


CONCLUSION 

It was July. Only Myrn stayed on at Black- 
thorne. Mrs. Talbert had taken a house at Good- 
nestone, a few miles distant. Betty came over on 
her bicycle most days, and she and Dija spent many 
of the sunshiny hours together, Barbara and 
Myrn making up the party. 

Myrn was getting impatient to resume his stud- 
ies ; he declared he was “ all right ” and sick of 
idling, but nothing would induce Mrs. Harper to 
believe that he was well. His appetite did not 
satisfy her hospitable desires. 

“ One gets out of the habit of eating in South 
Africa,” he declared, and the gentle old lady spent 
many hours devising dainty dishes to tempt him. 

Mr. Fosbrey decided to live with his sister until 
such time as Myrn should take his degree; then 
there was talk of returning to Australia with his 
son, where Myrn declared he should practice. 

Dija’s publisher had decided to bring her book 

out before the autumn, and one day in early June 
384 


Conclusion 


385 

the first-born child of her pen had been presented to 
her. She had vanished with the treasure into her 
own room and there shed tears of genuine delight 
over its blue-bound prettiness. She cut and turned 
the crisp leaves, reading with a new, strange inter- 
est the thoughts of her own brain. Then followed 
weeks of sickening suspense and then one morning 
came a bundle of press cuttings. She could not 
read them intelligently for the beating of her 
heart: a mist obscured her vision; she realized 
in one dreadful moment what it would mean to her 
if she had failed. 

She knelt by the open window, trembling and 
afraid, conscious that the sun shone gloriously over 
the summer landscape, and that the birds sang joy- 
ously. At last she forced herself to read. The 
concluding sentence of a notice caught her eye. 

“ . . . So good is it that its clever authoress 

is almost certain to have a great future before her.” 

When she became conscious again of outward 
things, she lifted her tear-bright eyes and saw Leon- 
ard crossing the lawn with Barbara beside him, and 
a chill fell on her heart. 

It was always so ; Leonard with Barbara beside 
him. Far back as she could remember, that place 
beside him had seemed her right ; there had been 


A Maid of Mettle 


386 

no circumstance which had not held the thought of 
him. All day she played her part — Betty came 
with “ heaps of news,” looking prettier than ever 
in her blue and white muslin. She had a heap of 
Society Journals with her and read bits of Court 
news, society weddings and parties with an antici- 
patory smile. 

“ I shall marry a Somebody,” she declared. 

“ If he’ll have you,” said Myrn. 

“He’ll be charmed,” declared Betty, at which 
they all laughed. 

“ That’s saul right then,” teased her cousin. 

“ I mean to cut your sister Fanny out,” resumed 
Betty. “ She headed humiliations on me after she 
got married : asked me to meet children and called 
me kid. She spends hundreds a year on her 
clothes ” 

“ Girls who do that must have a heap of blem- 
ishes to hide,” interrupted Myrn. 

“ Nothing of the sort,” contradicted Betty. “ It’s 
style that’s expensive. I shall be a very stylish 
woman when I’m married.” 

“Your chief attraction will always be your 
mother,” retorted Myrn. “ Some fellow will marry 
you to have the right to worship her.” 

“ You always were a boor, Myrn.” 


Conclusion 


387 

“ Well, I’m not now — seen enough of ’em ! ” 

I believe you are quarreling as you used to do 
at Blue Rock. Do you remember the ‘jerkable,’ 
Myrn ? ” Dija interposed. 

They strolled off together, talking of old times, 
and Leonard, hearing their laughter, looked after 
them, taking the seat beside Barbara, who found 
him a very quiet companion. 

That evening Dija escaped from the house, leaving 
Mrs. Harper and Myrn together. Leonard had 
walked home with Barbara. 

All day Dija had been fighting with herself — this 
day of days that had given her her heart’s desire, 
promise of that future power which she had desired 
above all else ; placed first in her dream of living. 
But she had not taken into account that to gain this 
ideal she must let Leonard go. He had been so 
much a part of living that she could not realize 
what life would mean without him. But she must 
face the fact; learn to resign him to Barbara. 
Barbara had met his ideal of womanhood. She 
could make his homo happy — to make happy was 
her forte. And Leonard deserved to bo made 
happy. In a few more weeks the guardianship of 
Mrs. Harper would be ended. There was all the 


A Maid of Mettle 


388 

world left for Dija to conquer. Once it had not 
seemed large enough ! Dear old Blackthorne would 
be her home no longer. 

She came to the spot where as a child and in 
rebellion she had hidden herself from Leonard 
and her godmother, and stooping, went in under the 
pines. Last year’s fallen needles still carpeted the 
ground ; the sun of the day had drawn the pungent 
scent from the now cones. Dija sat on the dry 
natural carpet and, leaning her back against the 
trunk of a great tree, looked up through the cover- 
ing branches to the pale patches of evening sky shin- 
ing through. One star hung like a lamp in the east. 

“ I have my star,” said Dija to herself, “ my 
work,” and then her eyes grew dim with tears, 
which presently broke loose. Lifting her hands to 
her face as though in shame, Dija shut herself in 
with the sudd^en darkness, a loneliness that encom- 
passed her. 

How long she lay face downwards fighting 
against herself she did not know ; the sky darkened, 
distant mutterings of thunder were unheeded and 
finally the storm broke. 

At last Dija was roused by an anxious impera- 
tive call. 


‘‘ Dija, Dija I ” 


Conclusion 


389 

A lightning flash revealed Leonard’s figure. Dija 
answered. . There was a rustling of branches, then 
he stood beside her. She thanked the darkness he 
could not see her eyes. 

“What are you doing here? playing truant? 
You are trembling, childie ; you are not frightened 
at the storm ? ” 

His voice was incredulous. Dija gave a half- 
derisive grunt. 

“ Well, you must come in — the mother is anxious.” 
Ho began to unbutton his mackintosh and to fasten 
it upon her. 

“ Always running away ! ” he said with a quiver 
in his voice. “ Once you ran to me from the others ; 
now you run from me ! Why did you grow up, 
Dija ? I miss my sweetheart so. You’ve forgotten 
all about proposing to me, haven’t you, childie ? ” 
His manner changed ; his fingers trembled over the 
buttons. 

“ But of course I shall go on loving always,” he 
said ; “ that’s understood.” 

It was quite half an hour later when they both 
went in together from the rain. Mrs. Harper was 
seated among the pictures of her ancestors in the 
hall ; she looked up eagerly. 


390 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ Ah, there you are ! ” she said. 

Leonard led Dija to his mother, mackintoshed as 
she was, and with the raindrops sparkling on her dark 
hair. 

Mother,” he said, “ I bring Dija home in a 
new character — my wife to be.” 

Mrs. Harper rose hurriedly and drew the girl’s 
face down to be kissed. 

“You are quite, quite sure it will be right? — 
I remember all you hoped Leonard’s wife to be ! ” 

“ So do I,” responded Mrs. Harper, holding Dija 
tenderly. “ Make your bow to the dames of Black- 
thorne,” she added, with a Avave of her hand to the 
pictured ladies ; “ some day your picture Avill hang 
among them.” 

****** 

The next morning Dija Avalked at a brisk pace 
into Deal. 

The thought of Barbara clouded her great con- 
tent. If Leonard did not care for Barbara, suppose 
Barbara thought he did ? 

Until she was satisfied upon this point, she could 
not be wholly happy — how selfish it would seem to 
receive so much at another’s cost. 

In that sacred half-hour last night, Leonard had 


Conclusion 


391 

told her that he had asked her mother before her 
death if she could trust her daughter to his care. 

“ I must go into Parliament when I have an 
authoress for my wife,” he had declared. “ I shall 
be terribly afraid of being the lesser man.” 

The door of Greystone Lodge stood open, but 
there was no sign of anybody about ; the study 
door was closed, and Mrs. Grimby doubtless down- 
stairs. Dija peeped into the drawing-room, but it 
was given over to a canary and flowers ; Barbara 
was doubtless up-stairs. 

A knock at the old nursery door brought forth a 
rather faint Come in.” 

Dija’s heart fell — had Barbara been crying ? 

“ You ! ” she exclaimed, coming forward from the 
old armchair. “How nice of you to come. Sit 
here, dear, by the window.” 

She seemed nervous and agitated. 

“ I hope nothing is wrong,” said Dija. 

“ Ho, there’s nothing wrong,” answered Barbara 
with an emphasis on the w^rong which seemed to im- 
ply that things were not as right as they might be. 
“ Onl}’’ difiicult. You see it is this way,” proceeded 
Barbara, sitting opposite to her companion but look- 
ing instead of at her out of the window at the sea. 
“ When I got home lastlevening. Jack and Elizabeth 


A Maid of Mettle 


392 

were nowhere to be found. ‘ The lambs had gone 
down to the beach,’ Mrs. Grimby said. So as it was 
time for their supper I went after them, but there 
were no lambs in sight — far out there was a 
boat ” 

“ No ! ” interjected Dija. 

Barbara nodded. 

“Yes, they were in it ; while I stood there their 
friend, boatman Jim, came up. I noticed that he 
seemed excited. He ran down to the edge of the 
water, then looked through his glass. 

“‘It’s them sure enough,’ he said. It seems a 
boy had just told him that, urged by Jack, a youth 
— one of the boatman’s sons — had taken the chil- 
dren out ‘ on their own ’ in an old tub of a boat I 
You remember the thunder-storm ? Well, they were 
in it. Jim saw that it was sweeping down the chan- 
nel and, with one of his mates, was off without a mo- 
ment’s delay. The news got about, and the pro- 
fessor and Mr. Barton were soon on the spot. Uncle 
was distracted ; Mr. Barton stood with his mouth 
set. Oh it was dreadful ! The children’s boat was 
tossing about and Jim’s seemed to crawl toward it, 
and then it grew dark and the thunder came 
on ” 

Barbara rose in agitation. 


Conclusion 


393 

“ At last we saw Jim’s boat with the children in 
it, and the other boat in tow.” 

What reason did they give ? ” 

“ Deep sea fishing.” Barbara half laughed. 
‘‘ Poking about on the beach you couldn’t catch fish ! ” 

“Master Jack was punished, of course?” 

“ Very much, of course ! After he had been dryly 
clad and fed, the professor sent for him to come 
into the study. 

“ ‘ This is grievous,’ said he, ‘ extremely grievous, 
and disturbing ; also dangerous — very dangerous. 
I am exceedingly displeased, young Jack.’ 

“ ‘ I ought to be thrashed,’ answered Jack. 

“ ‘ Well, no,’ replied his uncle, ‘ extreme measures 

are injudicious. But I reprimand you ’ the 

professor tried to glare, ‘ severely, sir, severely, and 
I must exact your word of honor that this will not 
occur again.’ A few minutes afterwards we heard 
Jackie’s voice like an angel’s singing Lizzie-Bess to 
sleep — 

“ ‘ Fierce raged the tempest o’er the deep, 

Watch did Thy fearful servants keep, 

But Thou wast wrapped in guileless sleep 
Calm and still.’ ” 

A silence fell between the two girls which 
Barbara broke with an involuntary exclamation. 


394 


A Maid of Mettle 


“ I couldn’t, couldn’t leave him I ” 

“ Leave whom, Barbara ? ” 

Barbara roused and blushed ; then turned to the 
sea again, standing so that Dija couldn’t see her face. 

‘‘ Leave Uncle Keith. He asked me if I could, 
not Uncle Keith you know, but Mr. Barton. It was 
after the children were in bed. I was in the draw- 
ing-room ; it was Mr. Barton’s usual time for a chat 
with uncle. We talked of the children and then 
Mr. Barton spoke of himself, said he liked Jackie’s 
idea of taking the partition wall down between the 
two houses, but as the professor might object to 
that, suggested that I became mistress of both ! ” 

Barbara turned, and when Dija saw her face, she 
knew how mistaken she had been — that it was not 
Leonard for whom she cared. 

The talk between the two girls was not over that 
morning. Dija had her news to tell ; she told it 
quietly and briefly. 

“ I feel like the Lady of Burleigh,” she added ; 
“that to be mistress of Blackthorne is an honor 
unto which I was not born ; to reign in my god- 
mother’s place will be a difficult task.” 

“ She was a girl once, Dija.” 

“ So she was ; I had almost forgotten. She has 
been old as long as I can remember.” 


Conclusion 


395 


“ She learned her exquisiteness,” continued Bar- 
bara, ‘‘as we are learning, she sajs, through trial 
and experience, but oh ! just to know sometimes 
what is best — without experience ! ” 

“ You mean about Mr. Barton ?” 

“ Yes, dear, I think I know him more intimately 
than you, Di — his thoughts, his sad early life : and I 
don’t at all think he would have liked me only that 
his dead wife was fair, and about my age.” 

“I don’t possibly see how he could!” smiled 
Dija, “ you’re just the sort of girl a man wouldn’t 
like.” 

“ However, it is only talked of. It seemed too 
big a question to decide ; Mr. Barton is with uncle 
now.” 

Dija thought she had better go. As it was, she 
met Mr. Barton on the stairs ; his hand-grip was 
very hearty. 

The study door stood ajar. Dija paused. The 
professor with a perturbed air was bending over a 
plan. 

He caught sight of Dija. 

“ Come in, my dear young lady ; something to in- 
terest you here. An old plan of this house and the 
house next door ; they are exactly similar, as you 


A Maid of Mettle 


396 

know. 'Now I shouldn’t wonder,” he said, looking 
up as though a new idea had occurred to him, “ that 
they were originally occupied by friends, very close 
friends with — er — mutual interests, yes : these con- 
necting passages would imply mutual interests. 
My friend, Mr. Barton, has pointed out that a door 
here,” he tapped the plan, “ would open up com- 
munication between the two houses, and this would 
do away with the very obvious disadvantage of 
using the underground passages, and while the 
privacy of each house would be maintained, the two 
houses would be in effect as one. Elizabeth would 
remain with me, yet still under her sister’s care.” 

He pulled up and looked confused. 

Dija thought Mr. Barton decidedly clever. 

****** 

When Myrn heard the news, he said, 

“ What I want to know is who’s going to marry 
me ? ” 

“ Oh, heaps of nice girls,” answered Betty con- 
solingly. 

“ Hot if I know it,” declared her cousin ; “ one 
will be quite enough.” 

One evening, on her return from Greystone 


Conclusion 


397 

Lodge, the old butler at Blackthorne met Dija in 
the hall. 

“ There’s a young person waiting to see you in 
the morning room, Miss Dija.” 

It was Matilda, more cuffed and collared than 
ever. She stared in a frightened manner over the 
white linen fence : her clasped hands in her white 
cotton gloves were trembling. 

“ You, Matilda ! ” 

“ An’ well you may say it. Miss Dija, for now I’m 
’ere, I’m that sheered I feel like a corpse. If you 
please, miss, I’ve bolted. Mrs. Martha an’ the doctor 
is goin’ to settle down in Scotland on a little farm 
what’s been left ’em, an’ I don’t know the brogue, 
miss, an’ the doctor has took to it awful in his 
pleasure. ‘Weel, weel, weel!’ he keeps on till my 
’ed’s a spinnin’ — I couldn’t stand it, nor the bag- 
pipes. When your ’art’s in one place an’ your 

body in another, it sort of tugs I’m that 

lonesome I should be ’appier in my grave, I 
should.” 

“ Don’t cry, Matilda ; I’ll speak to Mrs. Harper 
and write to Mrs. Martha; then if you are quite 
willing to be properly trained, you shall be my own 
special maid. Will that do ? ” 

Matilda beamed through her tears. 


A Maid of Mettle 


39B 

“ I’ll rise to anything for you, Miss Dija. I’d 
serve you on my knees in any compacity.” 

Jackie came along the drive, singing as he came. 

“ Hark it is the bells of our village church, 

How merrily they strike on the air, 

How merrily they ring . 

Come let us join and imitate those merry songs 
of joy that we hear. 

And joyous we will sing ! ” 




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